


Through the Tears and the Laughter

by ElvenQueen18



Series: F/GR-verse [2]
Category: Fate/stay night (Anime 2006), Fate/stay night (Visual Novel)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst, Ayaka is a Hopeless Suitor, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/M, Fluff, Gilgamesh (Fate) Being Gilgamesh (Fate), Hurt/Comfort, Multiple Universes, One Shot Collection, Written From 2013 to 2016, implicit sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 40,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27423316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElvenQueen18/pseuds/ElvenQueen18
Summary: There are some stories that never really end, and Saber and Shira's love story—spanning across multiple realities—is one of them.
Relationships: Emiya Shirou & Matou Sakura, Emiya Shirou & Ryuudou Issei, Emiya Shirou & Tohsaka Rin, Emiya Shirou/Artoria Pendragon | Saber
Series: F/GR-verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2003320
Kudos: 8





	1. The Morning After

The sun was shining brightly through the bedroom’s window as Saber slowly woke up. The first thing he became aware of was the ceiling above him, followed by the smells of food coming from the dining room and the light breathing of the girl lying beside him.

Or rather, lying _on_ him, he quickly amended as he flickered his gaze downward. At some point during the night, Shira had rolled onto her stomach, and her right arm was draped over Saber with her head on his chest. As he took a moment to study her face—the rise of her cheekbones, the line of her jaw, the lips that were curved up in a small, relaxed smile—he found himself thinking of the last woman with whom he had shared a bed, how different it had been from sharing a bed with Shira.

When Saber had shared a bed with Guinevere during their marriage, he had stayed on his side of the bed while she stayed on hers, almost never facing each other and only rarely engaging in any kind of physical contact. It was just one example of how it was duty and not romantic love that had bound him to his first wife. But with Shira, it was the exact opposite; even in slumber, she couldn’t suppress the urge to be as close to Saber as she could.

At present, she looked so peaceful that he almost didn’t want to wake her, even as the enticing scents of steamed rice, fermented soy beans, and broiled fish continued to fill his nose. Just as he was wondering how he could get out of the futon without disturbing her sleep, Shira stirred a bit, grunting as she was brought back to the waking world.

“Good morning, Shira,” Saber greeted.

“Mmm...” came her response as she snuggled further into him, her eyes remaining closed. “You’re still here,” she added quietly, her voice full of relief.

“I promised I would be,” Saber reminded her, continuing when the only reply he received was a sleepy hum. “Shira, I have been smelling breakfast for the past few minutes.”

“Have you? I must’ve overslept.” But the redhead, still lying on Saber and determinedly trying to go back to sleep, didn’t sound terribly concerned.

“Perhaps we should be getting up now,” the blond said, gently removing Shira’s arm from around him.

“Do we have to?” she asked after finally opening her eyes and being forced to get up on her knees as Saber sat up in the futon.

He barely resisted laughing at the pout on her face, and he couldn’t help but remember how she’d reacted to waking up on top of him that morning in the ruins. Back then, Shira had been incredibly embarrassed, blushing furiously and unable to look Saber in the eye. Amazing how things could change.

“As appealing as staying in bed all day might be,” he said presently, “we will need to eat sooner or later.”

“Oh, all right.” And with that, Shira stretched out her bare arms, her eyes closed and her back slightly arched. Saber stared perhaps a second longer than necessary at the skin the redhead’s white nightgown exposed. The garment was not immodest, exactly, but Shira was showing quite a bit more flesh than she usually did; needless to say, Saber had to remember how to breathe when she’d removed her robe after they’d gone to her room last night.

“So, Saber,” Shira began after she’d finished stretching, “do you know what you’ll say to—”

She never finished her question, because at that moment, the door was shoved open, revealing one Taiga Fujimura standing in the hall. Before either Saber or Shira could do more than look in the woman’s direction, Taiga had opened her mouth to speak.

“Shira, what in the world are you doing still in bed?” she scolded, currently oblivious to the fact that Saber was in the futon as well.

“Um...well...” Shira started awkwardly, flushing.

“Come on! The food’s getting cold!” At last, Taiga glanced over at the blond. “Oh, hey, Saber; I didn’t see you there.”

And with that casual statement, Taiga turned to leave, but suddenly froze as she realized what she had just said. When she whirled back around, her light brown eyes were alight with anger.

“SHIRA! WHAT THE HELL IS _SABER_ DOING HERE?! AND IN YOUR _BED_?!”

Shira visibly winced as she and Saber got to their feet, the latter trying his best to speak evenly despite his own reddening face.

“Taiga, I assure you that there is a perfectly good explanation as to why—”

“SHUT UP, YOU!” Shira’s guardian now turned her wrath on Saber. “You’ve got some nerve, leaving Shira miserable for _weeks_ and then just showing up out of the blue! And taking advantage of a girl in her vulnerable state—!”

“Fuji-nee, stop it!” Shira interrupted heatedly. “Saber didn’t take advantage of me!”

“He was in bed with you!” Taiga snapped. “What else am I supposed to think?!”

Shira’s face was now about as red as her hair. “Nothing happened! All we did was sleep! And if anything, _I_ took advantage of _him_ , not the other way around!”

_It would not be taking advantage if both parties are willing,_ Saber thought, but he wasn’t too worried about that. What he _did_ find concerning was what Taiga had said about Shira being miserable after he left. The rational side of him calmly reminded him that he did not disappear by choice and that it had only been by the Grail system’s design that he vanished after the Holy Grail War ended, but he still felt guilt gnaw at him at the thought of causing his lover grief.

Whatever Taiga would have fired back at Shira remained a mystery as a young, childlike voice broke in, sounding irritable.

“What are you yelling about this time, Taiga?”

“And what’s all this about—”

But the owner of the second voice—Rin—abruptly stopped talking as Saber, Shira, and Taiga turned their gazes to the hallway. There Rin, Ilyasviel, and Sakura stood, all staring at the blond in undisguised shock.

“S-Saber!” Sakura gasped.

The seconds passed in silence. Saber was inclined to think that all three girls wanted to ask why he was here and alive rather than gone and dead like he was supposed to, but wisely kept their mouths shut due to Taiga’s presence.

On the other hand, though, their astonishment at his return may have just rendered them speechless.

“Uh...so...” Shira suddenly smiled cheerfully, her face now its normal color, “Sakura, you made breakfast this morning?”

“Y-yes; yes, I did, Senpai,” Sakura replied, tearing her still stunned gaze from Saber to Shira.

“Don’t try to change the subject!” Taiga glared at her ward, her hackles raised again. “You still have some explaining to do!”

Saber could have sworn he heard Rin mutter, “You certainly do.”

“I’ll explain everything at breakfast,” Shira said firmly. “Now, do you mind leaving? I want to talk to Saber for a minute.”

Taiga’s glare did not soften—in fact, it seemed to become more pronounced when she looked at Saber—but she begrudgingly followed Sakura, Rin, and Ilyasviel back to the dining room.

“I guess I can tell Fuji-nee that we’re together,” Shira told Saber once Taiga was out of hearing range, “and I can probably say that you missed me so much you decided to return from England. Which is the truth...kind of.”

“But it’s not the whole truth,” Saber pointed out. “You do not intend to tell Taiga about the Grail War?”

Shira shook her head. “She doesn’t even know that I’m a magus. And with the way she’s acting, I bet she’d ground me for life if I told her everything.”

Saber had nothing to say to that. He stared at the floor for a moment, then snapped his gaze back to Shira.

“Shira, I meant to say this last night, but I am so sorry—”

“Don’t be,” the redhead interrupted at once, stepping closer to Saber and putting a hand on his arm. “We didn’t have a choice—the Grail had to be destroyed. And it wouldn’t have been fair for me to ask you to stay.”

“But Taiga said a few minutes ago that you have been miserable for these past weeks.”

“Fuji-nee just exaggerated,” Shira insisted.

“Did she?” Saber asked, unconvinced.

Shira opened her mouth, then closed it, letting go of Saber’s arm and looking down with a crestfallen expression on her face.

That was all the answer he needed, and the guilt increased. “Shira, I’m—”

But his apology was suddenly cut off by Shira shooting her head up, grabbing his face in her hands, and kissing him soundly on the mouth.

She pulled away after a few seconds, his face still cradled in her hands. “Stop apologizing,” she chided softly. “Yes, I was upset about you disappearing—I was _very_ upset, in fact—but you told me last night that it didn’t matter to you that you had to wait fifteen centuries to see me again. Well, the same applies to me. Six weeks, fifteen hundred years—it doesn’t matter how long we were apart; what matters is that we’re together now.”

Saber remained silent for a few seconds after Shira finished, able to do nothing more than stare at her.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” she asked, lowering her hands to her sides.

He at last found his voice. “What is there for me to say?”

A wry grin crossed her lips. “Well, for starters, you can accept that you have nothing to be sorry for, not to mention that we love each other enough to endure being separated for a long period of time.”

Saber’s lips quivered upward, and he allowed Shira to give him another, chaster kiss.

When the kiss ended, Shira’s grin had softened into a warm smile. “Seriously, Saber, I’m really glad you’re back.”

“It is good to be back,” was all Saber said, and it wasn’t long before they left to finally eat breakfast, as ready as they would ever be to face Taiga’s demands for answers.


	2. Hollow Smiles

It was cloudy that night.

Shira was in the middle of preparing dinner when the doorbell rang. She hurried from the kitchen to the entrance, opening the door to reveal Rin and Sakura. That was a little surprising, since the sisters had arrived earlier than expected, but the redhead hardly gave it any thought as she allowed them into the estate.

“Don’t worry about it,” Shira said after Sakura asked about helping her with the cooking. “I’ve already got everything on the stove.”

Sakura opened her mouth to ask another question, but had only spoken a few words before she, Rin, and Shira made it to the dining room.

“Oh. I see you’ve already set the table, too,” the violet-haired girl commented.

Indeed, the dining room table was all set up for dinner. There was one place for each person, complete with placemats, plates, bowls, chopsticks, silverware, and napkins. To an outside observer, the sight of a table ready for an upcoming meal was a perfectly ordinary one.

But it escaped neither Rin’s nor Sakura’s notice that Shira had set the table for six, not five.

The younger sister bit her lower lip in worry, while the older sister merely frowned, her expression unreadable.

“Dinner will be ready soon,” Shira said presently, her voice cheerful and her smile pleasant as she walked over to the cabinets in the kitchen. “You guys go ahead and sit down; I’ll get the drinks.”

Without waiting for a reply, she opened a cabinet, got out half a dozen glasses, and set them on the counter, then proceeded to open the refrigerator to retrieve the pitcher full of tea.

“Do you plan on feeding an army tonight, Shira?” Rin asked dryly.

Shira’s grip on the pitcher tightened ever so slightly as she poured tea into the third glass. Even so, her smile stayed in place as she turned to see that Rin was standing in front of the stove and eyeing the three huge pots containing rice, soup, and noodles respectively.

“Well, you know how Fuji-nee’s appetite is.” The redhead laughed a bit, and it sounded a little too shrill, a little too forced. “Look on the bright side—we might actually end up having leftovers!”

“Um, Senpai?” Sakura, who was still standing before the table, spoke in a hesitant, cautious tone. “You’ve...set an extra place.”

 _No, I didn’t,_ was Shira’s automatic thought, and she was about to say as much when her gaze darted to the number of places on the table. She counted one, two, three, four, five—

Six. There were places for six people to have dinner...but one seat would be vacant.

The redhead felt her throat constricting. “...Oh.” She laughed again, sounding even more forced than before. “So I have.”

“Senpai,” Sakura began, walking to where Shira stood by the counter, her voice quiet and not intending to wound, “you’re still thinking about Saber, aren’t you?”

“Of course I’m not; what gave you that idea?” Shira’s bright smile remained plastered onto her face as she returned her attention to pouring tea. “Now, would either of you like sugar?”

“Senpai,” Sakura repeated anxiously, “it’s okay to miss him.”

Shira’s brown eyes switched back to her younger friend, and she was about to say that she didn’t miss Saber at all and that Sakura was worrying over nothing when Rin’s voice cut in.

“Stop with the pussyfooting around, Sakura,” the black-haired girl said bluntly, crossing her arms over her chest and looking at Shira with a steely expression. “Shira, face it—Saber’s not coming back. He disappeared at Ryudou Temple after the Grail was destroyed. He’s gone.”

“Nee-san—” Sakura started to say. There was no confusion in her voice (as Shira would have expected if Rin had started talking about something related to the Grail War just a few weeks ago), only the urge to get her sister to stop talking.

But Rin ignored her, still staring at Shira, whose smile was slowly starting to crack. “Saber’s gone, Shira. It doesn’t matter how much food you make or how many times you set an extra place at the table, because he won’t be here.”

“Tohsaka—” Shira’s voice had become strained as she struggled to maintain the ever so hollow smile.

“Don’t try saying you’re fine—you’re not,” Rin snapped, and if there was even the smallest tinge of concern in her voice, it was drowned out by anger. “I get that you really liked Saber, but he’s _gone_. The sooner you accept that, the better off you’ll—”

“Tohsaka, will you just shut the hell up?” Shira was no longer trying to smile; her cheery façade had broken completely, leaving only a glare on her face and a burning sensation beneath her eyes.

“Senpai!” Sakura exclaimed.

Again, however, the younger girl was ignored. “Maybe you got over your Servant’s death in less than two hours,” Shira continued hotly, “but not all of us can do that.”

Rin, who was momentarily caught off guard by Shira’s interruption, now looked nettled. “I was just saying—”

“You don’t know _anything_ , all right?” The burning in the redhead’s eyes was becoming more noticeable, but she began blinking rapidly to keep it at bay. “You—you weren’t there, you didn’t see Saber disappear, you didn’t have him holding your hand up until the moment he faded away—”

Shira abruptly stopped; her voice now sounded choked with the tears she was still forcing back. She looked down and squeezed her eyes shut. _I’m not gonna cry. I’m_ not _gonna cry._

“Senpai?” Sakura’s voice was tentative; Shira imagined her reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder.

But at that moment, Shira opened her eyes and looked back up, striding over to the door without a glance at either Sakura or Rin.

“Where are you going?” Rin wanted to know.

“Out; I’m not hungry anymore,” Shira answered, thankful that her tone was more curt than anything else. “Tell Fuji-nee and Ilya that I’m not feeling too well when they get here.”

And with that, Shira exited the room, went down the hall, and left the estate. Her legs carried her quickly across the roads and streets of town, though she wasn’t sure when she had started picking up speed. Eventually, she arrived at the Fuyuki Bridge and walked to the railing, staring without really seeing the river’s waters below.

Yes, Shira knew Saber was gone. She knew he wasn’t coming back. And she damn well didn’t need anyone—least of all Rin—to tell her that. Did the older girl think that Shira was burying her head in the sand? Pretending that Saber was still alive? Well, she wasn’t. If it seemed to her friends that she was going out of her way to act normally, it was because it was the only thing she could think of to keep from going insane.

So what if acting like nothing was bothering her resulted in her sometimes forgetting that Saber wasn’t there? So what if she occasionally prepared a meal and realized too late that there was too much food and too many places at the table (for the third time in a row)?

It was either that or let herself waste away pining after her former Servant. And if Shira did _that_ , she might as well be spitting on Saber’s grave.

_“You—you weren’t there, you didn’t see Saber disappear, you didn’t have him holding your hand up until the moment he faded away—”_

Shira gripped the railing tightly, clenching her teeth as the memory of Saber kissing her hand appeared in her head, followed by the instant his touch vanished and she knew he was gone for good.

Her eyes burned again.

_I’m not gonna cry. I’m not gonna cry. I’m not gonna cry._

The clouds parted, revealing the moon in the sky.

Shira took one look at the river now shining with moonlight—then suddenly drew a hand back and curled it into a fist. With a strangled cry, she punched the metal railing as hard as she could.

She only got bruised knuckles for her trouble.


	3. A Dream Fulfilled

_If you were here beside me instead of in New York  
_ _If the curve of you was curved along me  
_ _I’d tell you that I loved you before I ever knew you  
_ _’Cause I loved the simple thought of you  
_ **–“New York” by Snow Patrol**

* * *

_This place could only be heaven, he decided._

_After all, what other name was there for a place where white, fluffy clouds adorned an endless azure sky? What other word could describe a land where a warm sun cast its light on an infinite blanket of fresh green grass dotted with fragrant, brightly colored flowers? Even the air he breathed tasted sweet, untainted by anything that could spoil such incredible beauty._

_If this was not heaven, then he did not know what else it could be._

_Even so, it was not merely his surroundings that had caught Arthur’s attention. He spent a moment looking around the peaceful meadow, quiet aside from the soft wind blowing past, before his gaze landed on a figure standing some distance away. He began walking to the figure, and as he got closer, he could see that it was a girl. His pace quickened into a jog, then a sprint as an eagerness he had never felt before flooded through his veins, his heart filling with a joy he did not understand._

_As he continued running to the girl, drinking in the sight of her like a parched man who had at last found water, she turned to face him. Tresses of hair as red as fire cascaded down her back, glinting beneath the sun’s rays and swaying in the slight breeze. Her bright brown eyes were sparkling rapturously, matched only by the delighted smile on her face. The white and blue garb she wore appeared strange to him, but he hardly gave it a second thought as he stopped a few feet away from her, unable to resist giving her a smile of his own._

_Arthur had never seen this girl before, but for some reason, she felt as familiar to him as though he had known her all his life._

_He could not say how long he spent simply looking at her, wanting nothing more than to commit her to memory. Soon enough, though, she hurried forward and wrapped her arms around him tightly. His breath hitched in his throat as he felt her body, as slender as a willow tree, pressed against his own, but his hands settled themselves on her back as if on instinct, while his chin rested on her head._

_In this ethereal paradise, enveloped in the arms of an exotically beautiful girl he had never met, Arthur felt at home._

And then, to his initial, inexplicable disappointment, he woke up, not to the sight of a splendorous utopia, but to the simple two-room hut he’d lived in for the past fifteen years. Rather than feeling soft, feminine arms encircling him, he felt the hand of his brother Kay roughly shaking his shoulder. Instead of the sound of a gentle breeze, he heard Kay’s voice loudly demanding that he get up.

As Arthur prepared himself for the day ahead, images of a green meadow and a red-haired, brown-eyed girl flashed into his mind. It had been a nice dream, he supposed—but also quite odd. The girl in his dream was a complete stranger to him, yet how could a stranger stir up such strong emotions within him? Why on Earth had he felt so elated, so ecstatic, to see her?

Those were questions without any answers, and by the time Arthur and Kay left the village for Camelot, the dream had been pushed into a corner of the former’s mind.

Many hours later, as Arthur pulled Caliburn from its stone, the dream had been forgotten entirely.

* * *

The only thing Saber could hear was the sound of heavy breathing—his and Shira’s. He rolled off of her and lay on the grass of Avalon, allowing the breeze to caress his heated skin. It wasn’t long before Shira, just as flushed and naked as Saber was, moved to curl into his side, and he draped one arm over her to pull her closer as her fingertips traced patterns on his chest.

For a while, both were quiet as they came down from their climaxes from just a few minutes ago, their minds lost in a blissful daze. Eventually, Saber found his thoughts drifting from the present to the past, to a time where the woman beside him was nothing more than a brief dream, and he tore his eyes away from the sky to stare down at Shira, placing his hand over hers.

“I love you,” he said softly. “Perhaps ever since that night I dreamed of you, so long ago.”

Shira hummed as she tilted her face up to get a better look at Saber. “I remember that dream. You were here in Avalon, and you looked so happy...It took me a while to remember that I was in the dream, too, and that’s what made me realize that we’d be together again eventually.”

She paused; a frown came to her face, but she seemed more thoughtful than angry. “Funny you should say that you loved me years before we even met, because you sure didn’t act like you loved me.”

“I confess that my dream had long been forgotten by the time you summoned me,” Saber admitted. “I only remembered it on the last day of the War, after I had rejected Kotomine’s offer to give me the Grail.”

“You never said anything,” Shira commented as she extricated herself from Saber’s hold and got to her knees.

“There never seemed to be a proper time to bring it up,” Saber told her as he sat up as well. “And even if there was, what could I have said? The future is not set in stone; for all I knew, our efforts to reunite would all be in vain. It’s entirely possible that my dream could have turned out to be exactly that—a dream.”

“Except they weren’t, and it wasn’t,” Shira reminded him, smiling slightly. And before Saber could reply, she crawled into his lap and kissed him, her hands roaming over his body: his shoulders, his back, his chest, his neck. She was slow in her movements, even a bit lazy, but her touch was enough for sparks to course through him, coaxing him back into the amorous mood from before.

Shira was right, Saber thought as he returned her kiss, one hand trailing down to her hip while the other cradled the back of her head. Possibilities may be endless, and some were worse than others, but it was reality that was most important. And the reality was that, after everything they had to endure, both together and apart, they were free to spend eternity with each other.

It was something that nothing could ever take away from them. What they were denied in life, they now had in death.

Saber did not want to waste a second of it. And judging from Shira’s soft moans as their kiss increased in intensity, neither did she.


	4. A King Who Deserves a Queen

_Smile,_ Ayaka Sajyou told herself as she headed down the school’s hallway to a room marked 2-A, attempting to force her lips into a small grin. She didn’t have to see her reflection to know her smile looked fake, and all efforts to appear pleasant were dropped by the time she entered the classroom.

She half regretted it the instant she saw the blond-haired boy already sitting at his desk. As Ayaka walked to her own seat, she sneaked a glance at Saber, whose eyes had not even flickered at her arrival. He looked exactly as he had in her dream last night: flawless. Everything about him was perfect—the unkempt golden hair, the cool blue-green eyes, the straight posture, the pale hands neatly folded on the table.

After Ayaka was seated at the desk right behind Saber’s, her blue eyes remained focused on him. She wondered if he could feel her staring at him and if he would turn in her direction. He had once, the day she transferred to Homurahara Academy. He’d turned around in his seat to look at her, one of his eyebrows raised in question, and she’d hurriedly lowered her gaze and busied herself with cleaning her glasses, embarrassed at being caught.

At present, if Saber sensed that he was being watched, he ignored it completely, and maybe that was for the best. Ayaka did not know what she’d do if he looked at her again. Oh, she knew what she’d _like_ to do—strike up a conversation, maybe begin with small talk that would gradually lead to him asking her if she wanted to spend time with him after school. But the chances of that happening were less than zero, and not just because Ayaka had never been known for having the best social skills.

It was also because Saber, the most sought after guy in school, already had a girlfriend. Said girlfriend was not the very popular Rin Tohsaka, as one might have expected, but Shira Emiya, who, while not necessarily school idol material, was everything Ayaka was not: cheerful, friendly, warmhearted, and quite pretty when it came to looks. Even if Ayaka could muster whatever courage she had to talk to Saber, how could she ever compete with the girl who had apparently stolen his heart before he even enrolled in this school?

And if that wasn’t enough, Yua, Emiko, and Aina, three girls in Ayaka and Saber’s class, got great, even cruel amusement out of the entire situation.

“Really, Sajyou! Of all the boys you could pine after, it has to be Mr. Foreign, Gorgeous, and Off-Limits,” Emiko said with a giggle at the start of that day’s lunch break.

Ayaka, who had been staring at Saber as he stood in the lunch line, turned her head towards the girl who had just spoken, belatedly realizing that Emiko, along with Yua and Aina, had walked up to the cafeteria table she was sitting at.

“Uh...well...” Ayaka’s voice was small as her insides clenched, and she had barely gotten those two words out before Aina starting talking.

“You’ve been staring at Saber for, like, two minutes straight. What, you think he’ll notice you if you burn a hole through his head?”

“Of course he wouldn’t,” Yua declared as Aina laughed at her own joke. “Sajyou’s so mousy that it’d be a miracle if a guy like Saber even knew she existed. Isn’t that right, Sajyou?” she added, smirking.

“H-hey—!” Ayaka began to protest, her face flushing.

“Oh, don’t try to pretend it’s not true,” Emiko interrupted, rolling her brown eyes. “You’ll only embarrass yourself.”

“She’s embarrassing herself enough as it is,” Aina said, addressing Emiko and Yua as though Ayaka wasn’t there to hear her every word. “Even if Saber wasn’t with Emiya, he’s still way out of Sajyou’s league.”

The bespectacled girl stared at her lap, her throat feeling tight. “Stop it.”

But the taunts only continued, Aina, Emiko, and Yua paying no heed to Ayaka’s feeble plea.

“Face it, Sajyou; you’re pathetic.”

“What makes you think Saber would have anything to do with a plain Jane like you?”

“And you’re too much of a coward to even _talk_ to him!”

“It’d be funny if it wasn’t so sad.”

Just as tears were pricking at the corners of Ayaka’s eyes, a male voice broke in.

“I believe that is quite enough.”

Ayaka could barely suppress a shocked gasp as she looked up. That voice, that calm, dignified voice—she had listened to it plenty of times before, of course, but never as more than an eavesdropper to a conversation. She felt her heart begin to race as her eyes took in the very real sight of Saber standing across from where she sat, carrying a bento box in his hands and furrowing his brow disapprovingly at the girls bullying her.

For their part, Emiko, Yua, and Aina seemed as surprised as Ayaka was once they realized that the blond was there.

Yua was the first to find her voice. “Saber!” she exclaimed, plastering a smile on her face. “We were just talking about you!”

“Yes, I surmised as much,” Saber said coolly. “My apologies, but I could not help but overhear you tormenting this girl.”

He spared a glance at Ayaka, who resumed staring at her lap as if it was the most interesting thing in the world, feeling a blush creeping to her cheeks.

“Tormenting?” Emiko repeated. “We were just having some fun.”

“Oh?” Saber fixed another glare at the three girls. “From what I saw, it looked as though she was not enjoying having insults thrown at her. Or were my eyes deceiving me?”

Neither Aina, Emiko, nor Yua had any answer; Ayaka did not look to see their expressions, but she imagined they were quite unnerved by Saber’s frosty demeanor.

“I suggest you leave,” he said after several seconds of silence.

A few more seconds passed, and then Aina muttered something that Ayaka could barely hear. When she finally lifted her head, she saw that the girls were walking off towards the other side of the cafeteria.

“Are you all right?” Saber questioned, his voice now less cool but no less even.

Ayaka gave a start as she shifted her gaze to him, noticing how those perfect blue-green eyes of his were looking at her in polite concern. Her own eyes quickly stared out into space; even now, she could hardly work up the nerve to maintain eye contact with Saber.

“Um...I...I’m fine,” she stammered out quietly. “Th-thank you for...you know, for what you did, S-Saber...”

She could feel her cheeks burning even further. Was this the best she could do? She had lost count of how many times she’d fantasized about the moment she would have her first conversation with Saber, and now that the moment had arrived—and after he had defended her from bullies, at that—she could do nothing more than stutter out her words in little more than a whisper. Oh, what must he think of her?

But Saber did not seem at all put off by Ayaka’s timidity. “You are welcome, though I’m sorry those girls teased you so. They should not have said any of those things.”

 _They didn’t say anything that wasn’t true,_ Ayaka thought gloomily. _I’m a coward, I’m pathetic, and I’m so hopelessly average in absolutely everything: looks, grades...magecraft. I stand out so little that I might as well blend myself into a wall. You wouldn’t even have noticed me if Yua, Emiko, and Aina hadn’t decided to make fun of me._

Out loud, though, Ayaka let out a noncommittal hum.

“If something like that happens again,” Saber told her, “you know who to find for help, Miss...” His voice trailed off expectantly.

“Oh!” Ayaka forced herself to meet his gaze. “Sajyou. Th-that is...” she paused momentarily, “m-my name is Ayaka Sajyou.”

“I see.” Saber nodded. “Well then, Ayaka, I am supposed to meet Shira for lunch, but perhaps we can talk at a later time. Goodbye.”

“Um...yeah; g-goodbye,” Ayaka mumbled as Saber politely bowed his head. She watched him leave the cafeteria in disappointment; a part of her had hoped that maybe he’d want to eat lunch with _her_ , but she knew it was pointless as soon as he mentioned his girlfriend’s name.

On the other hand, though...Ayaka’s eyes widened slightly. Hadn’t Saber said they could talk later? And he’d stepped in and stuck up for her even when he didn’t have to. He had been so nice to her, and never before had he shown so much interest; it surely meant that he liked her, too! Right?

It was a pleasant thought, and the slow smile that appeared on Ayaka’s face was much more genuine than her morning’s attempt at a smile had been. As she finally starting eating her lunch, daydreams about Saber filled her head. They would have that talk, she’d properly thank him for helping her out, he’d invite her out on a rendezvous...

But how were those daydreams supposed to become a reality, especially with Shira in the picture? Ayaka mused on this for a moment, and an idea began to form.

_Well, they say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach..._

* * *

Saber strode out of his classroom shortly after the bell signaling lunchtime rang. That morning had found Shira realizing that she’d forgotten to make a lunch for herself—and she had no money on her person to buy one—just as she and Saber were about to reach school. He’d assured her that he would use his own money to buy a lunch for both of them to share from the cafeteria, which was where he now intended to go before meeting with Shira on the school’s rooftop.

He was walking through the halls, about halfway to his first destination, when he heard a voice call out to him.

“Saber.”

The blond stopped and looked over his shoulder to see Ayaka Sajyou, the bullied girl he had helped the other day, stepping towards him, a boxed lunch in hand.

“Hello, Ayaka,” Saber greeted. “Has someone else been bothering you?”

“Uh...no,” Ayaka shook her head, “nothing like that. Um...I just...” Her voice, almost as soft as it had been yesterday, trailed off uncertainly, and she cast her gaze downward.

“Yes?” Saber prompted after a few seconds of silence.

“I...um...made this for you,” Ayaka finally said, looking up at him and holding out the boxed lunch.

Saber accepted it with a puzzled frown. “You prepared a lunch for me?”

“Yeah...” Ayaka confirmed, pushing a lock of shoulder-length black hair behind her ear. “You helped me out yesterday, and I...I thought I should thank you for it.”

Saber hummed in response, not failing to notice the telling blush on the bespectacled girl’s face. He had little doubt that Ayaka genuinely wanted to thank him for defending her from the girls who’d been bullying her, but he was also acutely aware of the likelihood that it was more than simple gratitude that had caused her to approach him. He was no stranger to girls being infatuated with him despite his relationship with Shira, and if Ayaka had been the simpering and fawning type, he would have very firmly rejected whatever advances she tried to make.

But the girl in front of him was neither simpering nor fawning over him; truthfully, she was painfully shy and seemed rather fragile to Saber. He could imagine that a blunt rejection would not go over very well, so he would have to take a different approach—namely, pretending that he was oblivious. Perhaps if he simply did not react to Ayaka’s feelings towards him, she would give up any hope she had of dislodging Shira’s place in his heart.

So rather than mention how red she was, with a slight smile, he said, “Well, I suppose it’s my turn to thank you, Ayaka. I am certain that Shira and I will enjoy your cooking.”

The smile that had begun to spread across Ayaka’s face when Saber started talking disappeared once he said Shira’s name.

“S-Shira?” she parroted, her face returning to its natural color.

“Yes; Shira left for school this morning without a lunch, so I told her I would buy something for us to share. She was initially rather adamant that I not ‘waste money on her,’ as she put it, but I was insistent.”

Saber’s smile broadened a little as he remembered how the conversation had gone.

_“Look, Saber, I’ll be fine. It’s not like I make a habit out of skipping meals,” Shira said as they stood in front of the school’s gate. “Besides, I can always ask Sakura or Tohsaka if they’d share their lunches with me.”_

_“Even so, Shira,” Saber replied patiently, “it would not be right for me to not provide you with food if I have the means to do it.”_

_Shira huffed, shaking her head. “You make it sound like I’ll starve. And that’s_ your _money you’ll be spending; you don’t need to spend it on me.”_

_“What if I told you I wanted to?” A small grin crossed Saber’s lips. “And to be more accurate, I would be spending money on both of us.”_

_The redhead opened her mouth, then closed it as she realized that she couldn’t come up with anything to contradict what Saber had said. After a few seconds of thought, she chuckled a bit._

_“Is this your way of spoiling me, Saber?” Shira teased._

_“Not at all.” Although the question had been meant as a joke, Saber responded seriously. “I merely do not enjoy the thought of you going hungry.”_

_His statement caused Shira to give pause, then she let out a sigh and nodded after a momentary silence. “Okay.” She took his hand, and the couple walked through the gate and towards the school building._

_“Thanks, Saber,” Shira told him quietly._

_He turned his head to look at her. “What are you thanking me for?”_

_The soft smile she gave him caused his heart to skip a beat. “For just being you.”_

“In any case,” Saber continued after mentally shaking himself out of the memory, “you giving this lunch to me saves me from having to go to the cafeteria, so I thank you again.”

“Oh.” Ayaka looked away from him after that subdued, monosyllabic reply. “Well...y-you’re welcome. I’ll just get going, then...See you later.”

With that said, she turned on her heel and hurried past Saber before he could think to say anything.

* * *

“Saber!” Shira greeted once he made it to the roof, getting up from where she’d sat on a bench and walking over to him. “I see you’ve got us food.”

“I did, but as it turned out, I did not have to buy it,” Saber told her as he handed the boxed lunch to her. “It was given to me by a girl in my class.”

Shira looked up from examining the contents of the lunch, her initial grin slowly giving way to a frown. “A girl?”

“Yes, Ayaka Sajyou.” As the two headed towards the bench Shira had been sitting on, Saber continued explaining. “I helped her out when a few girls were harassing her yesterday, so she gave me that lunch to thank me.”

“Why do I get the feeling that she wants to thank you in an entirely different way?” Shira could not quite hide the peevish note in her voice.

“Are you jealous?” Saber asked once they were seated, only half serious.

“Of course not!” Shira insisted, despite the reddening of her cheeks.

“Your face seems to be telling a different story.”

“Oh, shut up.” The redhead averted her gaze from Saber, her blush deepening.

He sighed after a moment. “Shira,” he began, all traces of humor abandoned, “you already know I favor you.”

“It’s not about that,” she confessed as she refocused on him, the blush having faded. “It’s just that girls have a tendency of throwing themselves at you. Can you blame me for being annoyed?”

“I suppose not,” Saber admitted. “But I believe this means that you can no longer accuse me of acting like a Neanderthal whenever I feel envious,” he added, resuming his teasing.

Shira scoffed and rolled her eyes, though she was now smiling again. “Says the guy who tried to kill Issei with his eyes—more than once. But anyway,” she set the boxed lunch down between herself and Saber, “how about we see if this Ayaka Sajyou is a good cook?”

And with that, the couple began eating.


	5. New Year

Shira decided that whoever first thought to include alcohol in New Year celebrations had never seen someone get drunk.

While she, Saber, Rin, and Sakura had drank one or two cups of sake and Ilya was only allowed the traditional three sips (much to the white-haired girl’s disgruntlement), Taiga was getting wasted. Shira stared at her guardian from where she sat at the dining room table, no longer hungry for the soba noodles she’d prepared for the New Year’s Eve dinner, as the woman in question swayed in her seat, loudly “la la la”-ing to the melody of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony playing on TV—or trying to, anyway. For once, Taiga took little interest in the food as she downed cup after cup of sake, her face becoming redder the more she drank.

Rin was unable to suppress an amused grin at the brunette’s antics. Saber continued calmly eating his meal, as though somebody getting intoxicated was an everyday occurrence. Ilya was taking advantage of Taiga’s current drunkenness by stealing food from the latter’s plate.

“Ilya, stop doing that,” Shira admonished as her adopted sister grabbed another piece of Taiga’s sushi.

“Why not?” Ilya asked carelessly, popping the sushi into her mouth. “Taiga’s in no condition to yell at me, so what’s the big deal?”

Before Shira could inform Ilya that it wasn’t polite to steal food from people, even if they _were_ drunk out of their minds, Sakura chose that moment to speak.

“Uh, Ms. Fujimura,” she began, sounding concerned, “I think you’ve had enough to drink for one night.”

Taiga paused in her singing attempts long enough to answer. “Whaddya talking about, Sakura?” she asked, her voice slurred. “I feel fantastic!”

“You won’t be saying that in the morning, believe me,” Shira warned, frowning.

The wide grin never left Taiga’s face. “But it’s nighttime now! The morning hasn’t come yet! I’ll worry about the morning...um...” her grin faded a little as she slowly blinked her glassy brown eyes, then suddenly returned in full force, “whenever the morning gets here!”

Shira smacked herself in the head, feeling a migraine coming on, while Taiga giggled and groped for the flask of sake, her hand shaking. Just as her fingertips were about to graze her new favorite drinking container, Saber grabbed the flask and held it out of her reach.

“Sakura and Shira are right, Taiga,” Saber said, his voice firm. “Enough is enough.”

Taiga’s demeanor went from cheery to furious in no time at all.

“No! Gimme that!” She shot to her feet, but her legs wobbled almost immediately, and Rin stood up to grab her right arm before she could fall flat on her face.

“Lemme go!” Taiga demanded, obviously misinterpreting Rin’s actions as she unsuccessfully attempted to break out of the black-haired girl’s grip.

“Maybe we should go home,” Rin suggested, the humor she’d initially gotten out of the situation now gone.

“Aw, but things are just getting interesting!” Ilya complained.

“But what about—?” Sakura tried to ask barely after Ilya had finished, eyeing Taiga nervously.

“I will get her to a guest room,” Saber interrupted as he set the flask aside, stood up, and took the drunken woman by the left arm, pulling her to the door as soon as Rin let go of her. “Come with me, Taiga.”

“But my sake!” Taiga wailed, sounding somewhere between outraged and anguished as she tried squirming out of Saber’s grasp.

Not bothering to form a reply, the blond dragged her out of the room despite her struggles and protests.

Shira sighed. “Guess I’ll lead you guys out, then.” So saying, she, Rin, Sakura, and Ilya left the dining room as well, and before long, the latter three were out on the front doorstep of the estate.

“Will you still be going to visit Ryudou Temple tomorrow, Senpai?” Sakura questioned.

“Sure I will...I think,” Shira replied, stifling a groan as Taiga’s drunken shouts were heard. Still, the redhead managed a smile as she exchanged goodnights with the other girls, and once Ilya, Sakura, and Rin were gone, Shira returned to the empty dining room.

For a few seconds, all she did was stare at the table, at the plates and bowls that contained half-eaten food. She could still hear Taiga shouting ( _Honestly, Fuji-nee; I think there are people in China who haven’t heard you yet,_ she thought grumpily), and she wondered if Saber needed any help with getting her settled. But before Shira could dwell on that thought, she spied the flask of sake sitting near Saber’s plate.

...Maybe a couple more drinks to settle her nerves first wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

* * *

It took more time than Saber would have liked to get Taiga to a guest room, what with her trying her hardest, both physically and verbally, to get him to let her go and stumble her way back to the dining room. Luckily, though, as soon as the door to the nearest guest room was opened, the woman’s alcohol-induced...hysteria, for lack of a better word, disappeared as quickly as it had come. Saber finally let go of Taiga’s arm and watched her stagger towards the futon and fall face first onto it.

He heard light breathing not two seconds later, confirming that Taiga was now asleep. Saber made a mental note to come back with some water before heading back to the dining room, thinking that Shira could use his help with cleaning up the kitchen.

No sooner had he slid the door to the dining room open did he find himself looking at the sight of Shira sitting on her knees at the table with her head thrown back, gulping down a cup of sake.

“Honey!” she exclaimed as she turned in Saber’s direction, her eyes glazed over and a bright, lopsided smile on her flushed face.

Saber blinked. In the time it had taken him to get Taiga settled, Shira, who always called him either Saber or Arthur (the latter of which being reserved for intimate moments), had gotten herself drunk enough to address him by a term of endearment? He hadn’t been gone _that_ long, had he?

“Shira,” he responded as neutrally as he could, uncertain if he should find this amusing or not.

The redhead set her cup aside, evidently losing all interest in drinking, and stood up on unsteady legs. She stumbled over to Saber, and he walked forward with his arms outstretched, ready to catch her if she lost her balance. That, however, proved to be unnecessary, as Shira grabbed Saber and pulled him into a tight hug the instant he was in her reach. He only had time for a startled yelp before she crushed her mouth to his.

Her kiss was rough—in fact, he’d wager that it was even rougher than some of their more passionate kisses—and her hands were eager in their exploration of his body. In any other situation, Saber would have let himself get lost in the moment, but the taste of sake curbed whatever lust he’d ordinarily feel. His breath hitched as Shira’s hand wandered down his chest and stomach to reach his pants, and he quickly broke off the kiss and pulled away from her, keeping her at arm’s length.

“Shira,” Saber said again, “now is not the time.”

“But we’re alone,” she murmured, leaning forward to thrust her tongue back into his mouth, one of her hands now trying to get his tie off.

“And you are drunk,” he pointed out after pulling back for the second time. “Perhaps you should be in our room now.”

A mischievous gleam lit up Shira’s eyes at the mention of their bedroom; Saber wouldn’t have been surprised if everything else he’d said had not registered in her mind at all. “Ooh; getting frisky, are we?”

 _You are one to talk,_ he thought as Shira moved forward to press her lips to his throat, her arms once again wrapping around him to pull him closer. Even so, he could not help the small groan that escaped him as she covered his neck in kisses. If he was being honest, to say that letting her have her way with him was not a temptation would be a lie, but ultimately, taking advantage of her while she was drunk was the last thing he wanted.

“Not here,” Saber gasped out as he pushed Shira away.

Her lower lip quivered. “C’mon, honey; I want you.”

“I know you do.” He gave her what he hoped was his most charming smile. “But I believe it would be more comfortable if we continued this in our room. Would you not agree, Shira?”

Making it sound like she would get something other than sleep may have been deceptive, but the lie was necessary if Saber wanted to get her asleep in bed before things got out of hand. In any case, Shira ended up happily complying and allowed the blond to quite literally sweep her off her feet and carry her bridal-style out of the dining room.

They were about halfway down the hall when she lifted her face up to try to kiss him again.

“Patience, Shira,” Saber told her as he turned his head away, both to avoid her lips and to hide the amusement he was starting to feel about her persistence. “There will be plenty of time for that in the future.”

 _When you are sober,_ he added silently. _And when I have put a wedding ring on your finger._

Saber could almost feel the pout Shira was directing at him, but he was able to reach their bedroom without any further incident. He managed to open the door and close it behind them with his foot, then walked to the futon and lowered them both onto it.

He was just pulling the futon’s blankets aside when Shira’s arms snaked around Saber’s neck and her mouth attacked his with renewed enthusiasm. He placed his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her down onto her back, ending the kiss and looking at her as she gazed up at him through already half-closed eyes.

“Love you, honey,” she mumbled.

“I love you, too.” Saber removed his hands from Shira’s shoulders and moved to get up.

“Hey, where’re you going?” Shira asked, grabbing him by the wrist.

“I’m merely stepping out,” the blond told her, prying her fingers from his wrist. “Please relax for now; I will return shortly.”

And with that, Saber stood up and walked towards the door. He had only taken a few paces before he turned around to find that Shira was now fast asleep, and he allowed himself a soft chuckle. _Nice try, Master._

He stepped back to the futon to cover Shira up with the blankets, then headed to the dining room to wash the dishes. Once that was done, Saber turned off the television, went to the bathroom to get two cups of water, and took one to the guest room where he’d left Taiga. Afterward, he returned to his and Shira’s room, set the second cup of water on the desk placed beneath the window, and slipped into bed.

In her sleep, Shira turned to snuggle up to Saber; this time, he didn’t pull away, and it wasn’t long before he joined her in slumber.

* * *

When Shira opened her eyes the next morning, the sunlight coming in from the window caused her to immediately close them again.

Her first thought as she turned to press her face into her pillow was, _Ugh...why does the sun have to be so bright?_

Her second thought as she heard herself groan was, _Why the hell do we not have curtains?_

And her third thought was an acknowledgement of the fact that her head was pounding like someone was beating at it with a hammer. What on Earth happened last night? Shira tried to remember through her headache. There had been the New Year’s Eve dinner...then Taiga got drunk, so Ilya, Rin, and Sakura left early...then she’d noticed the flask of sake...but what happened after that? Try as she might, Shira couldn’t remember.

Just how much did she drink, anyway?

“Happy New Year, Shira,” she heard Saber say, his voice low.

The redhead guessed that he was either lying or sitting beside her in the futon, but she didn’t bother with turning in his direction. “Define ‘happy,’” she rasped. “God, my head’s killing me.”

Shira felt Saber rub her back as he continued. “I brought water for you and set it on your desk. Can you get it on your own, or do you want me to?”

“You go ahead; I don’t trust myself to move right now.”

She stayed where she was, eyes closed and face in her pillow, as she heard Saber step forward to the desk. Groggily, Shira got up on her knees and opened her eyes just enough to see Saber kneeling in front of her with a paper cup of water in hand. She gratefully accepted the cup and took slow, small sips.

“Thanks, Saber,” she said when the water was about half gone. After a slight pause, she asked, “Uh...can you tell me what happened last night? The last thing I remember is having some sake after Tohsaka, Sakura, and Ilya left.”

Saber remained silent for a few seconds, obviously considering his words carefully. “I got Taiga settled in a guest room, and when I returned to the dining room, I saw that you were drinking. And then...well, you were very physically affectionate.”

“...Oh.” She stared down at her cup, already having some idea of where this was going. “More so than usual, you mean?”

“Yes,” Saber answered. “Not only that, but you were quite...ah, eager to get me out of my clothes.” He paused as Shira felt her face burn red hot. “And you kept calling me honey,” he added as though it were an afterthought.

Shira looked back up at Saber; she grinned a bit despite herself. “Seriously?”

The blond nodded. “I was able to bring you to our room, and you fell asleep shortly afterward.”

“Hmm.” What little of a grin that was on Shira’s face faded as she took note of how calm Saber’s tone had been from the moment she’d woken up. Granted, Saber being so levelheaded and even-tempered was nothing new, and it was one of the things she loved about him, but somehow, his calmness seemed out of place.

“What is it?” Saber wanted to know after several seconds of silence.

Shira took a sip of water before replying. “You’re not mad? I mean, from what you told me, I basically tried to jump your bones last night.”

“You were drunk, and it’s not as if you held me down or anything...although you had a difficult time keeping your hands off of me,” Saber added, a slight, teasing smile tugging at his lips.

“Well, that’s comforting,” Shira said dryly, drinking the rest of her water.

“And,” Saber went on, becoming serious again, “even if I were angry about anything you did last night, I believe you suffering from the effects of a hangover is enough of a punishment.”

“No kidding.” The redhead pressed a hand to her still aching temple to prove the point. “And speaking of which, I wonder how Fuji-nee is holding up?”

Before Saber could respond, the two were startled by the sound of loud retching coming from the bathroom.

“Guess that answers my question,” was all Shira could say, wincing in sympathy.


	6. Silver and Gold

_The only things that registered in the red-haired girl’s ears were her ragged breath, pounding heart, and the sound of her feet slapping the ground as she ran. Her lungs were burning and her legs ached, practically begging her to stop before she collapsed in exhaustion, but it wasn’t in Shira Emiya’s nature to worry about herself, not when somebody was in danger._

_Especially when that somebody was a loved one._

_Shira’s eyes frantically darted this way and that as she hurried down the dirt path of the Einzbern Forest. “Saber!” she screamed. “_ Saber _!” She had to find him—she_ had _to—and soon, before it was too late and something terrible happened. But_ where was he _?!_

_She skidded to a halt as the woods she was in suddenly disappeared, the city park now in its place. Sweet relief flooded her veins once she spotted Saber standing in the middle of the brick road, and she called out his name as she dashed towards him._

_Saber turned to face her. “Shira?” But he got no further than that before the redhead engulfed him in a hug._

_“You’re okay...thank goodness you’re okay,” Shira panted, pulling back a little with a tired but no less relieved smile. Her heart, initially so relentless in its thudding, was now slowing down to its usual rate._

_“Yes, I’m fine,” Saber began; his lips slightly curved upward in reassurance, but it faded as he continued. “But what about you, Shira? You seem exhausted. Just how long have you been running?”_

_“I don’t know,” she admitted, “but does it matter? I’m just glad you’re not hurt.”_

_The blond let out a sigh. “Your wellbeing is still one of your least concerns, I see. Even so,” he smiled again, “I suppose you would not be you if you did not care so much for others.”_

_“Are you saying you wouldn’t have me any other way?” Shira asked._

_Saber chuckled as he cupped the side of her face with a gauntleted hand. “I believe I am.”_

_Shira beamed as she took a moment to gaze at the young man before her. She took in his unruly blond hair, his penetrating blue-green eyes, his pale, beautiful face, and especially his armor—spotless, immaculate, and silver. The last time she had seen Saber wearing it had been at Ryudou Temple, right before the final battle in the Holy Grail War, and there was something comforting about seeing him now donned in that familiar armor._

_Really, what had she been so worried about?_

_She remembered a scant few seconds later._

_Just as Shira was leaning in for a kiss, she heard Saber let out a gasp, and the next thing she knew, he was roughly pushing her aside. She staggered backward and fell, the sound of his agonized scream filling her ears half a heartbeat later. She sat up, and her insides turned to ice at what she was seeing._

_“SABER!”_

_At least a dozen swords had pierced through Saber’s body, the tips coming out through his back. His silver armor was now stained with his blood, the bright red liquid slowly dripping to the ground. And there, standing several feet away, was Gilgamesh, decked out from throat to toe in his gold, gleaming armor and a malevolent glint in his eyes._

_Saber doubled over, gasping for breath. He turned to face a frozen, horrified Shira, open-mouthed and wide-eyed. For an instant, all was silent...then Saber disappeared in a twinkling of light, allowing the bloody swords to fall with a ringing clatter._

_“No...” Shira stared at the spot where Saber had stood only seconds before, her vision blurring. “No!” she repeated more forcefully, shaking her head as tears spilled down her cheeks, her thoughts whirling._ Saber’s not gone, he’s not gone, he _can’t_ be gone, God, please, _please_ , not again—!

_It was Gilgamesh’s voice, heavy with disdain, that reminded her she wasn’t alone._

_“Pathetic boy. I expected him to at least_ try _to put up a fight before I killed him.”_

 _Shira looked up at the golden king. “You killed him,” she choked out through her sobs. She saw the cool expression on Gilgamesh’s face, and his nonchalance caused her grief to morph into blind rage. “_ You killed him _!”_

 _At once, she leapt to her feet, Bayuka materializing in her hand. With a cry, Shira raced forward, the white broadsword raised to attack. The distance between herself and her enemy lessened with every step, and she was so focused on her current goal that she hardly noticed that they were now inside Kotomine Church. But before Bayuka could connect with Gilgamesh’s face—_ clang _!_

_A sword had appeared in Gilgamesh’s hand, and he effortlessly blocked Shira’s attack, the force of the blow causing Bayuka to shatter and disappear. Snarling, the redhead prepared to project another weapon, but Gilgamesh chose that moment to grab her by the roots of her hair, forcing her to look him in the eye._

Let go of my hair! _Shira thought furiously as she tried in vain to break free from the iron grip on her scalp._ Only Saber can touch my hair!

_“Not to worry, little girl; you’ll be with your precious Saber soon.” Gilgamesh leered as he leaned closer to her, lowering his voice to whisper in her ear. “After I’ve deflowered you.”_

_Those last four words were enough for Shira to cease her struggles, stone-cold fear replacing her anger upon hearing the possessive lust in Gilgamesh’s tone. A cry escaped her mouth as he tightened his hold on her and threw her backward onto the altar. She caught a glimpse of the church’s high ceiling before her vision filled with his cruel grin, horrible crimson eyes, and unbearably bright gold armor._

_She felt Gilgamesh biting at her neck as his hand crept up her thigh, and Shira screamed._

* * *

Shira’s eyes snapped open, and she jerked herself up with a short yell. Her breath was coming out in irregular pants, blood was pounding in her ears, and her nightgown was soaked with cold sweat. For one terrifying second, she didn’t know where she was, but a quick glance around her dark, moonlit surroundings made her realize that she was still in her and Saber’s room, sitting in their futon.

 _It was only a dream,_ Shira told herself in an attempt to calm down. _Saber’s alive, Gilgamesh isn’t here, it was all a dream._

Actually, the more accurate word was “nightmare,” but at the moment, it made little difference to the redhead. For her, nightmares had been a common occurrence for as long as she could remember, but if she were being honest, she would rather have woken up from her longstanding dream about the Fuyuki fire. At least that one was predictable, even if it wasn’t very fun.

“What’s wrong?”

Shira let out a shriek and recoiled upon feeling a hand on her arm. She whipped her head in the direction of the voice, caught a glimpse of blond hair, and, in her panic, immediately thought it was Gilgamesh. Was she still dreaming after all?

“No! Don’t touch—” she began, but stopped as her brain fully processed the sight of the man sitting next to her. It was Saber, his hand in midair, staring at her with a startled expression on his face.

And from the window, the moon bathed him in its light. _Silver_ light.

Strangely enough, it was this minor detail that was able to convince Shira that she was fully awake.

“Shira?” Saber asked in concern when the silence went on for too long, lowering his hand.

The redhead tried to smile. “It’s alright; I was just dreaming. Sorry I woke you.”

“May I ask what it was about?”

“It’s nothing, really.” Shira lay back down, facing Saber. “We should get back to sleep,” she added, closing her eyes.

But Saber would not be swayed. “Shira, I would hardly use ‘nothing’ to describe a dream that caused you to be as upset as you were a few minutes ago.”

Shira sighed as she opened her eyes and sat back up; he had her there, she had to admit. Heck, the nightmare had had her so wound up that she’d objected to him touching her, and that was something she _never_ did. Feeling a small stab of guilt at that, Shira took Saber’s hand in hers, gently rubbing her thumb along his knuckles.

“I dreamt about you dying in front of me,” she finally said, her voice somber. “I was running around, looking for you, and when I found you, Gilgamesh showed up out of nowhere and...”

She paused, a lump forming in her throat. “He killed you—Saber, he _killed_ you.” Her tone was becoming more distressed as she went on. “I watched you disappear all over again, and I couldn’t—I couldn’t do _anything_ about it, and then Gilgamesh threw me down and was going to—” Shira suddenly cut herself off with a surprised gasp as Saber let go of her hand to pull her into his arms.

“That was only a nightmare, Shira,” he said into her hair. “None of it was real.”

She allowed herself to settle into his embrace, but images from her nightmare still lingered in her mind, remnants of fears that had been buried deep into her subconscious. “It felt real enough, though,” she mumbled. “Losing you again, Gilgamesh pawing me...”

“But you haven’t lost me again,” Saber insisted. “I’m not going anywhere. For as long as you want me with you, I will be here. And Gilgamesh cannot make good on his threats to violate you; I defeated him in the end, remember?”

One of his hands moved to stroke Shira’s hair, and she felt her body relaxing despite herself. They stayed that way for several minutes, and little by little, the redhead’s anxiety faded away as Saber’s efforts to reassure her covered her like a warm blanket.

At present, Shira lifted her head up to look at Saber properly. “Thank you. And I’m sorry for freaking out earlier; I just thought I hadn’t woken up yet.”

“I understand.” The hint of a grin formed on the blond’s face. “And if Gilgamesh appears in your dreams again, let me know. I’m certain I can defeat him a second time.”

Shira had to giggle at that. “What would I do without you?”

Saber’s grin widened slightly. “As fate would have it, you will never have to know.”

Her only reply was to stare at him with a bright smile, just as she had in her dream.

The King of Knights, illuminated by silver moonlight.

It was a vision of beauty that Gilgamesh, with all of his golden finery, could have never matched.


	7. Waiting Endlessly, Searching Tirelessly

It was hard, sometimes, for Saber to remember what he was waiting for.

Months, years, decades...it had possibly been centuries since he reached Avalon, but that could be hard to remember as well. In a paradise that existed outside of the physical world, one could be forgiven for assuming that time was standing still for how little meaning it had, and the days that passed here were so similar from one to the next that they seemed to blend in with each other.

Even so, far from becoming bored or insane, Saber was very content with the place he was spending his eternity in. The peacefulness of Avalon was unbroken, the only sounds coming from the soft, warm breezes and his footsteps as he explored his surroundings: the emerald green meadow alight with the sun’s rays, the thick forest filled with trees bearing fresh apples, the long stream flowing with clear, cool water. Here, in this utopia, there was no reason to fight, no kingdom to rule, and no Holy Grail to pursue.

It was in moments where Saber was most content that remembering what he was waiting for was most difficult.

But then...then there would be a shift in the wind, and an image of Shira would briefly flash into his mind, clear and vivid. His head would turn, his heart hammering in his chest as he looked around, hoping against hope that she had arrived earlier than Merlin had predicted. And like always, he was forcibly reminded that he still had some waiting to do.

For so long, that was all Saber had done—wait for someone who he just might never see again. Merlin had been very clear on that point: between two people who had been separated by such a vast distance, a reunion was close to impossible. When Saber had asked if there was any way to be with the woman he loved, he’d essentially been asking for a miracle.

But he was fine with that.

If waiting for Shira was what he had to do to reunite with her, then he’d wait for an eternity if he needed to.

* * *

It was hard, sometimes, for Shira to remember what she was searching for.

The past twenty-five years seemed to have gone by in a blur. For her, the majority of that time had been spent traveling from place to place, country to country, battlefield to battlefield, fighting anyone who endangered innocent lives, from ruthless magi to powerful Dead Apostles. The more threats she eliminated, the more people were saved—but “more” was hardly the same as “everyone.”

Shira had known from a young age that it wasn’t possible for every single person in the world to be saved. Even though she was now much more competent as both a magus and a fighter than she was as a teenager, she was well aware of how powerless she could be. By the time she, for example, tracked down some Dead Apostle or another, the number of civilians that fell prey to the vampire’s bloodlust were numerous more often than not. She could prevent the amount of causalities from growing, yes, but she could do nothing to save the people who were already victims of someone else’s cruelty. So why did she persist in striving for an impossible dream? What was the purpose of continuing down this path?

It was in moments where Shira was most dispirited that remembering what she was searching for was most difficult.

But then...then she would be near death, at the mercy of an enemy, and an image of Saber would briefly flash into her mind, clear and vivid. In a burst of adrenaline, a weapon would be projected into her hand, and she would deliver the final blow to her opponent with a battle cry, thinking all the while: _No, I will_ not _die today—I can’t die yet._ After all, her journey—her search—was far from over.

For so long, that was all Shira had done—search for someone who she just might never see again. Avalon was not called the ever-distant utopia for nothing, and there was also the question of whether or not Shira’s deeds in life would be enough for her to avoid reincarnation after she died, let alone if they would be enough for her to gain entry into that legendary paradise.

But she was fine with that.

If searching for Saber was what she had to do to reunite with him, then she’d search for an eternity if she needed to.


	8. Green-Eyed Monster

One sunny afternoon found Shira in the student council room, trying to help Issei with fixing the art club’s small stove, which had, after the last few weeks of declining in efficiency, finally decided to stop working. Really, it’d be much simpler to buy a brand new stove, but Shira had always been one to at least attempt to repair old appliances rather than throw them away.

Besides, Issei was a friend who’d asked for her help, so how could she say no? And in any case, it felt very...well, normal to be fixing up school equipment. It was like Shira was returning to a part of her life—a relatively ordinary part of her life—from before the Holy Grail War, before she’d ended up becoming a Master, before she’d met and fallen in love with Saber.

 _Not that I’d trade Saber for this,_ Shira thought as she stood up from her handiwork to address Issei, who was standing off to the side, leaning against the table. “Well, I’ve done what I can. If the stove still doesn’t work, the art club might as well pitch it.”

“At least you tried,” the student council president told her, adjusting his glasses as he straightened his posture. “That’s more than I’d expect most girls to do.”

Frowning, Shira opened her mouth to comment, but Issei went on, his expression becoming thoughtful. “That’s probably why we get along so well—you’re not especially feminine.”

 _That’s because you’ve never seen me try to be feminine._ The redhead took a few seconds to reflect on how she tried to put at least some effort in making herself look nice whenever she and Saber (who always said she was lovely regardless of what she wore) went out on a date before she spoke. “I don’t know if that’s supposed to be a compliment or not.”

“It was meant as a compliment,” Issei said simply. “I don’t mean to say you’re not pretty, but you don’t flaunt it to get attention. I think that’s a good thing; it means you’re staying true to yourself.”

“Yes, _Mr. Ryudou_ , I agree wholeheartedly,” a familiar voice, polite but cold, broke in. “But I believe it’s time for Shira and me to leave, provided you have no more need of her assistance.”

Shira and Issei turned to see Saber standing in the doorway, his brows furrowed, his mouth set in a dark scowl, and his eyes narrowed icily as his attention was solely focused on the bespectacled, indigo-haired boy, looking very much like a king (or maybe a prince to people unaware of how old he really was) who was itching to have someone executed.

“Oh, Pendragon,” Issei greeted, calling Saber by his surname instead of what was believed to be his middle name by the general public. To his credit, Issei didn’t appear at all afraid of the blond’s chilliness towards him, only confused, if the slight raising of his eyebrows was any indication. “How long have you been standing there?”

Whatever Saber would have said remained a mystery, as Shira chose that moment to speak. “You didn’t have to wait up for me. I told you earlier that repairs could take a while.”

“I know,” Saber replied, his frosty disposition lessening significantly as his gaze switched to her, “but I would rather we go home together.”

“Uh-huh.” Shira nodded slowly, though her tone showed that she didn’t quite believe him. “Well, just let me put my toolbox back in my locker and then we’ll go.”

She quickly put her tools into her toolbox and gave her friend a smile. “Well, see you tomorrow, Issei.”

But Issei, who was still eyeing Saber confusedly, even a bit nervously, didn’t seem to have heard her. “Emiya, Pendragon looks like he wants to murder me. Was it something I said?”

Shira spared a glance at Saber to see that he had resumed poisonously glaring in Issei’s direction. “No, you’re fine,” she said, rolling her eyes in annoyance. “My boyfriend’s just being an idiot.”

“Shira!” Saber protested.

“Come on, let’s go.” The redhead walked up to Saber, her toolbox in hand, and it wasn’t long before the couple left the student council room, Saber placing a hand on the small of Shira’s back as they went.

* * *

Several minutes later, in the deserted locker room, Shira had barely closed her locker’s door when Saber wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her towards him and burying his face into her throat.

She gave a start of surprise. “Wow; someone’s clingy right now.”

“That _boy_ was trying to woo you,” Saber growled into the crook of her neck, his breath tickling her skin. “Surely you noticed?”

A snort escaped Shira’s nose. “If this were anyone else, you’d probably have a point, but this is _Issei_ we’re talking about. Does the phrase ‘monk-in-training’ mean anything to you?”

“He complimented you on your beauty,” Saber insisted.

Shira untangled herself from his grasp and turned around to face him, her hands on his shoulders. “He said I wasn’t ‘not pretty,’” she said in exasperation. “Yes, it was a compliment, but it’s not exactly the best one I’ve ever gotten. And it’s not like Issei meant it romantically in the first place, so I don’t understand why you’re being a total Neanderthal about this.”

The anger in Saber’s expression melted away into bewilderment. “Neanderthal?” he parroted.

But Shira continued as if he hadn’t said anything. “You know, you acted the same way that day Issei came by the house during the Grail War, and the worst he did that time was check up on me. What’s so offensive about—wait a minute,” she cut herself off mid-tirade as a thought suddenly occurred to her. She let go of his shoulders and took a step back to stare at him, her eyes widening. “Saber, you’re not...you’re not _jealous_ , are you?”

The blond opened his mouth, presumably to deny it, then seemed to think better of it. After a brief silence, he at last answered flatly, “And if I am?”

That was all the confirmation Shira needed, and the very idea that Saber—the legendary King Arthur, one of the greatest of knights, and a former Servant to boot—was honest to goodness jealous of Issei, the guy who just didn’t _do_ the whole romance thing, was so crazy, so ridiculous, that she couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

“How is this amusing?” Saber demanded over Shira’s laughter.

“I’m sorry,” she said in between giggles, wiping away tears of mirth. “It’s just...of all the guys you could be jealous of, it’s the one who’s the least of a threat!” Shira imagined Issei’s flabbergasted expression if he ever found out that he’d unwittingly made it on Saber’s hit list, and the image made her laugh all the more.

All the blond could do at the moment was shake his head in disbelief.

“Seriously, though,” Shira went on, sobering after her laughter had subsided and stepping forward to put a hand on Saber’s arm, “Issei’s never liked me like that, and I certainly never liked him in that way. You know you have nothing to be jealous about, right?”

Saber sighed, placing his own hand over hers. “I never claimed my envy was rational, but...I suppose I merely can’t bear the thought of someone taking you away from me, as selfish as it sounds.”

“And you think I don’t get mad when some girl thinks she can hit on you?” Shira asked rhetorically. “If jealousy means you’re selfish, then I’m no better. But, hey,” she added brightly, “who knows? You and Issei might end up becoming friends. That’s more than I can say about me and any of your fangirls.”

“Somehow, I cannot see myself befriending Issei any time soon,” Saber informed her, pursing his lips at the thought.

Shira just grinned. “You never know, Saber. You never know.”


	9. Burning Angel Wings to Dust, Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In between this author's note and the one-shot proper is the second omake Ascarde wrote for Fate/Gender Reversal.

Shira gasps, her vision clouded with red. Perhaps it was not the wisest idea to fight Gilgamesh...

Gilgamesh is laughing. Arrogantly, proudly, his armored footsteps looming ever closer. "What, is that it, mongrel? All the bite you had?"

Shira struggles to lift her elbows, lightning flashing through her spine. She cannot stand, so she falls and crawls away. Gilgamesh laughs even harder, easily striding over to her and pushing her to the ground with a golden greave. "I can't have you dying. I want you fully awake as I take you," he practically sneers with a voice full of lust. A golden ripple in the air, a flask comes out.

 _That's..._ Shira thinks with growing dread.

"Ah, I can see it on your face. Yes, this is a potion. Very observant. It's not just any potion, however; it's an aphrodisiac, I believe the term is these days. That petulant goddess Ishtar was good for one thing, at the very least. I got her to bless this flask." Gilgamesh is speaking so casually of what he is about to do. Shedding his armor in a shower of golden light, he kneels over Shira and wrenches open her mouth. He tips the flask over and the sweet substance drips into the mouth that is struggling to close.

Her vision goes fuzzy.

...

Gasp. Breath in, out.

Her body is slick with sweat. She doesn't want this. She can hear someone calling her name.

_Sa...ber...?_

A fleeting name. Barely more than a passing thought, so consumed is she by the potion blessed by the goddess of fertility and sex.

Saber hangs defeated, caught within the Chains of Heaven and forced to watch Shira as she moans in pleasure. His teeth are clenched so tightly the jaw is bleeding, the hand gripping the holy blade white and the knuckles snapping. He is spent, however. The chains that confined the Bull of Heaven will not move for a king that does not bear its friend's name.

Gilgamesh stands, donning his armor once again. "That was actually rather good. You're much better than most I've graced with the King's seed," he says, his voice still quite full of lust. "You'll make a fine slave in my kingdom."

**BAD END**

_Tiger Dojo! A strange hint corner!_

All is quiet in the dojo. Ascarde, Ilya, and Taiga are staring at Saber, who by now is crying.

Ascarde: I MAY have crossed the line there...

Ilya: You did more than cross the line.

Saber: *blubbering gibberish, pleading the images to stop*

Taiga: Like a twig.

Ascarde: He's not that far of—GEBOGH!

Ilya punches Ascarde two hundred and three times in a single, massive Taiga Shoryuken. Magnificent combo, Ilya-chan!

* * *

Her breath came out in shallow gasps as she stared mindlessly up at the twinkling stars in the sky. Her body felt as heavy as lead. Her heart was beating at a frantic pace. The only thought that came to her mind was how cold the night air was on her bare skin...

Wait...bare skin? She was naked? Why was she—?

Another gasp escaped her throat as pain coursed through her stomach, and she suddenly noticed how damp the ground she was lying on was. She...was injured? How had she gotten hurt this badly? And why...why did the area between her legs ache so much?

“You’ll make a fine slave in my kingdom.”

That voice...that haughty, masculine voice...wasn’t that—?

_Gilgamesh._

And with that realization, memories began rushing back to Shira.

Gilgamesh beating both her and Saber bloody...

Saber rejecting Gilgamesh’s offer to become his loyal servant...

Gilgamesh threatening to punish Saber by forcing himself on Shira...

Saber begging her to run and her refusing to abandon him, declaring her love for him in the process...

Gilgamesh preparing to unleash Ea while she projected Caliburn...

Caliburn shattering in her hands and disappearing after being hit by that red light...

Getting clipped by Ea’s power, which was enough to worsen the wound in her stomach...

Hearing Saber call out her name, then seeing long, silver chains shoot out from the Gate of Babylon to wrap around his wrists, ankles, neck, and torso...

Trying to crawl to Saber, ignoring the blood pouring from her stomach and just how much it hurt to move...

Gilgamesh kicking her to the ground and pulling out a potion from the Gate, not paying any attention to Saber screaming at him...

Seeing Gilgamesh’s armor disappear, having her mouth forced open...

The contents of the potion spilling into her mouth even as she desperately tried to close it...

_No...no, no, no, no, no, no, NO!_

It couldn’t have happened. Shira was just having a nightmare—that _had_ to be it. There was no way that golden Servant had done those things. There was no way her virginity had been stolen by a man she didn’t love. And there was absolutely no way the man she did love was forced to watch it all occur.

There was no way...there was _no way_...

And yet...if all of this was a nightmare, why wasn’t Shira waking up?

“Actually, I have a better idea,” Gilgamesh was now saying after a moment of thought. “Why don’t I make you my wife instead of a mere bed warmer? After all, you _are_ carrying my child.”

Shira felt her heart stop at that last sentence. “...Wh-what?” she croaked, her voice no louder than a hoarse whisper. She was _pregnant_?! No—no, that couldn’t be right, it just _couldn’t_ be right! Gilgamesh had already drugged her, stripped her, and raped her. Wasn’t that enough? Did he have to claim that he’d knocked her up, too?

“ _That’s a lie_!” Saber practically howled in his fury from where the Chains of Heaven still trapped him, any shred of composure he’d had long forgotten. He was glaring hatefully, his eyes were blazing like wildfire, and he was squeezing Excalibur’s hilt in a death grip, wanting nothing more than to be freed from these damnable chains so he could tear Gilgamesh limb from limb. “You’re lying, you depraved bastard, you’re _lying_!”

“Am I?” Gilgamesh asked rhetorically, turning to face Saber with a wicked smirk. “The potion I fed your Master did more than make her enjoy it as I violated her—it ensured her fertility. One time is all it took for her to get pregnant, and what woman would deny her child his father?”

“Why, you...!” Saber struggled fruitlessly against his bonds. “Unhand me!” A low hiss of pain escaped him as the only partially healed wound on his side began to throb, but he continued yelling. “Unhand me so I can kill you!”

“So _you_ can kill _me_?” Gilgamesh scoffed. “We both know that I have won this battle, Pendragon. We’re done here.”

“This isn’t over!”

Saber had barely spat those words out before Gilgamesh chose that moment to disappear into spirit form. The Chains of Heaven faded away as well, sending the knight falling unceremoniously into a heap on the brick road. With some difficulty, he managed to get up on his knees, Excalibur still clenched in his fist, having more than half a mind to track the eighth Servant down to murder him. _Violently_.

“Saber...?”

It was that small, weak utterance of his name that caused his desire for vengeance to be pushed into a corner of his mind. Saber switched his gaze to Shira, who was at last slowly crawling from the pool of blood she’d been lying in, gasping as she did so. For a split second, he looked at her bloodied, naked form, then just as quickly averted his eyes to stare at the ground, partially to give her what little illusion of privacy he could offer, but also due to the other emotions currently swirling within him now that his anger wasn’t quite so hot.

Horror at what Gilgamesh had done to Shira.

Worry at how much damage this would do to her.

And guilt—guilt burning and festering in the pit of his stomach, guilt so strong that he wanted to vomit up everything he had eaten that day.

Because the fact of the matter was that he failed as a Servant. He hadn’t been strong enough to defeat Gilgamesh or protect Shira, and because of his weakness, his Master—his idealistic, strong-willed, utterly selfless Master—was in the very same position he himself had been in not too long ago.

“Shira...” Saber’s voice, sounding so soft and broken that he almost thought it had to be someone else speaking, trailed off. What in the world could he possibly say? Beg for forgiveness? That would hardly make up for Gilgamesh raping her, and even if it could, did he even deserve to be forgiven for being able to do nothing except hang in midair while that despicable tyrant not only deflowered Shira, but forced her to swallow a potion to make her submit to him?

“Where...” Shira began after she’d gotten herself onto a much less bloody part of the road, her head bowed, her palms pressed on the ground in front of her, and her body shivering, “where are my clothes?”

The question prompted Saber to glance around to see that Shira’s shirt, skirt, shoes, socks, and undergarments were strewed about the road. About half of the articles of clothing were bloodstained and torn almost beyond repair. Gilgamesh had been anything but gentle when he’d ripped Shira’s clothes off; to say nothing of how brutal he was when he actually—

Saber fought back the bile that came to his throat before he could continue down that line of thought. Carefully, as to not aggravate his wound further, he got to his feet to gather Shira’s clothing, then stepped over to her once that was done.

“Here,” was all he said as he dropped the clothes before the redhead. Without another word, he looked away so she could get dressed. Or rather, attempt to; with how large some of the rips were, particularly with the shirt, Shira would have to make some effort in preserving her modesty.

Shira stayed silent as she spent the next few minutes or so getting her clothes on. In the back of her mind, it occurred to her that she’d sooner throw them away—maybe even burn them—but it was either wear torn, soiled clothing or continue going naked. Neither of those choices were pleasant, but at least her clothes gave some protection from the chill, no matter how slight.

After Saber decided that enough time had passed, he looked back to see Shira still on the ground, one of her hands holding her shirt, the other her skirt, to keep them from either falling off, exposing herself, or some combination of the two. Her head remained bowed, her eyes staying focused on the road, so the blond couldn’t see the expression on her face. He wondered if he even wanted to.

“We need to get back to the estate.” Saber’s tone, while still quiet, had now regained some of its usual calmness. “Are you strong enough to walk, Shira?”

A tiny shake of the head was her only response.

Saber sighed. Apparently, Shira’s unusual healing ability either was going too slowly or had yet to take effect. In any case, he could see only one way for her to get moving, but would she even agree to it?

“I’m afraid I will have to carry you, then. I know you might not want anyone—least of all a man—touching you for any reason right now, but...” He was about to finish by saying, “There really isn’t any other option,” but allowed his voice to trail off again, deciding those words might sound too callous.

“Saber...” Shira finally looked up at him, her facial expression no more than a blank mask. He had expected her to look upset and distressed, or maybe angry and accusatory—heaven knew how much he’d deserve it—but her face showed nothing but emptiness, and her brown eyes, normally so bright and warm, now looked dull and dead.

When she continued to speak, her voice was as lifeless as her eyes.

“Just take me home.”

* * *

Shira barely remembered going home that night, how she had laid limply in Saber’s arms as he walked back to the Emiya estate. It was like she was staring without really looking at the city streets lined with lit streetlamps one minute, then the inside of her house’s entryway the next. She dimly heard someone—was it Rin?—exclaim something, and the next thing she knew, she was in the bathroom, undressing and getting into the shower.

The jets of icy cold water from the shower nozzle rained down on Shira. It caused her skin to erupt in goose bumps, but she made no move to adjust the water’s temperature. Instead, she let her gaze drift downward. The first thing she noticed was the dried blood being washed away from her now healed abdomen.

The next thing she noticed was the faint, dark-colored bruises that marred her hips and thighs.

She blinked once, then twice, nausea creeping its way into her stomach. Her eyes began to burn, and she suddenly heard rapid, irregular breaths, only realizing a second later that they were coming from her.

And just like that, the numbness that had taken hold of Shira ever since she’d gotten out of her drugged state broke completely.

Through her blurred vision as tears spilled down her face, she grabbed the bar of soap and began scrubbing at her thighs, her hips, her breasts, her shoulders—any part of her body that Gilgamesh must have touched. She scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed until her skin turned red from the force of her movements, but regardless of how much soap she lathered on herself, it couldn’t wash away just how _dirty_ she felt.

What did it matter if she didn’t remember the rape happening? It _had_ happened, Gilgamesh _had_ violated her, whether she remembered it or not, and because of that, she might be—

 _No; I’m not pregnant,_ Shira mentally insisted. _I’m not, I’m_ not _—Gilgamesh was just being a bastard and wanted to make me and Saber feel even worse, that’s all._

At last, the soap slipped from her hand, and she sank to the shower’s floor and leaned against the wall. Was it really just that morning that she and Saber had left for their date? Of all the ways today could have ended, how could it have ended with her getting raped by a violent creep with a god complex? And all she’d wanted was to save Saber from getting killed—had that really been so much to ask?

The answer came with horrible clarity. _You could’ve run at any time. You could’ve avoided the entire thing. But no, you just_ had _to stay and try to protect Saber. You think you could’ve saved him? You think you could’ve beaten Gilgamesh? Look at you—you’re an inept magus who can’t fight worth crap. Some hero you turned out to be._

Wasn’t that the truth? What exactly had Shira accomplished since the Grail War began, aside from almost getting killed on a nearly daily basis? She’d been stabbed by Lancer, maimed by Berserker, thrown out a window by Rider, and only continued breathing because of some healing power she still didn’t understand.

She was useless. She was nothing but a useless, stupid, weak little girl who wouldn’t even run from a man threatening to rape her.

Shira let her face be buried into her hands and sobbed.

* * *

Rin’s blue eyes were narrowed as she looked at Saber from across the dining room table. “So, you mind telling me why Shira looked like hell when you came back and is now apparently trying to drown herself in the shower?”

Saber’s voice was as cold as a graveyard in the middle of winter as he explained as briefly as he could. “We encountered the eighth Servant. He revealed his true identity as Gilgamesh. I fought him, he defeated me, and then he raped Shira.”

For a few seconds, all Rin did was stare at him, wide-eyed with shocked disbelief, as she digested what he’d told her. Soon enough, her lips pressed together, and she dug her finger in her ear before speaking. “I think I must have a buildup of earwax, because I could’ve sworn I heard you say that Shira got raped by the eighth Servant.”

“Yes, that is exactly what I said. Do you believe I would jest about something like that?”

“And I’m supposed to believe you just let it happen?”

 _Is that her way of saying I am to blame?_ Saber wondered, taking note of the tinge of anger that now colored Rin’s voice. His face fell as his icy exterior slipped, and the latest pang of guilt stung at him. He let out a heavy sigh, his gaze dropping to the tabletop. “Shira was too injured to get away,” he went on tonelessly, “and Gilgamesh restrained me with one of his Noble Phantasms—the Chains of Heaven, he called it. He pulled out a potion that would...force whoever consumed it to be intensely aroused. He poured it down Shira’s throat, and then...”

He left the sentence unfinished, not wanting to talk about it anymore. The hand placed in front of him on the table curled into a fist as undesired images of Shira under the potion’s influence flashed into his mind. Her face twisted in ecstasy, her moans of pleasure, the lustful words coming from her mouth—all of it so inappropriate, so _wrong_. The only positive seemed to be that Shira had been unaware as the rape occurred, but as far as Saber could see, it mattered so little that Gilgamesh might as well have not used the potion at all.

“No wonder Shira looked half dead when you came in,” Rin muttered darkly. After a few seconds of thought, she continued in a normal voice. “So, Saber, what will you do now?”

“You have to ask?” The initial coldness seeped back into the knight’s voice as he looked at the black-haired girl again. A small, grim smile crossed his lips. “I am going to hunt Gilgamesh down and kill him.”

A single blast of Excalibur’s power would not do. If fate smiled on Saber, Gilgamesh’s death at his hands would be slow, prolonged, agonizing. Yes, it was true that the King of Heroes was incredibly powerful, but surely there was some weakness that could be exploited. And once that was done, Saber intended to make Gilgamesh suffer for what he had done to Shira. How, though? Should he slice off the golden king’s arms and legs? Rip his tongue out of his mouth? Castrate him and force him to eat his own manhood?

Perhaps such thoughts were unbecoming for a knight, but Saber didn’t care.

At present, Rin returned his smile with a vicious smirk of her own. “Somehow, I knew you’d say that. Let me know when you go exact revenge. I might just decide to join you.”

* * *

Shira was found sitting on her futon when Saber went to her room a while after his conversation with Rin. The redhead was now clothed in pajamas, hugging her knees to her chest and staring miserably into space. If she noticed that her Servant had slid her door open, she made no acknowledgement of it.

“Shira?” Saber began tentatively. After a few seconds passed without a response, he decided to go on. “Would you like something to eat?” _It would give her a distraction, if only for a moment._

But there was still no answer, unless a blink of her eyes could be counted as one.

“Do you...want me to leave?”

Shira squeezed her eyes shut at that; the question seemed to have made her even more upset, if the grimace forming on her face was any indication. A couple of more seconds passed in silence, and she opened her eyes and shook her head slightly, though she still didn’t look at Saber.

He stepped from the doorway into her room, walking over to her and sitting beside her on the floor. Up close, he could see the tear stains on her cheeks, and he felt a strong urge to reach out and wipe them away. He kept both hands remaining at his sides, however. Carrying Shira home was one thing, but Saber doubted she’d want him to touch her any more than necessary.

“Shira...” he repeated, “I’m so sorry about what happened tonight.” It wouldn’t change anything, but now that he was here, he had to at least try to say something that could give her even the smallest comfort. “Gilgamesh had no right to take advantage of you the way he did.”

“No...” Shira, her voice sounding a bit raspy, at last lifted her gaze to Saber, removing her arms from around her legs as she got out of the fetal position. “Don’t apologize. What happened was all my fault.”

“What? Shira, that’s not—”

“It _is_ ,” she interrupted forcefully, feeling the next round of tears building in her eyes; it was amazing that she had any tears left. “I should’ve run when you told me to. I didn’t listen to you—I _never_ listen to you. I should’ve, but I didn’t—I _couldn’t_ , not when you would’ve been—when he would’ve—” She looked away as a choked sob escaped from her throat.

Saber gently took Shira’s hand in his, no longer being able to stand remaining motionless. “Please don’t blame yourself. I promise you, you have done nothing wrong.”

But his words fell on deaf ears. “I’m an idiot!” Shira cried. “All I do is make a mess of everything! I can barely perform spells, I can hardly defend myself—for God’s sake, I’m not even strong enough to be a proper Master! Maybe...maybe we really should break our contract and you can go be someone else’s Servant or—”

“Shira, that is enough,” Saber cut in, suppressing a wince at the reminder of the argument they’d had on the bridge. “Yes, you have a habit of rushing into danger without thinking things through, I will not deny that, but that is no reason for you to shoulder the blame for Gilgamesh deflowering you.”

_You wanted to protect me; you have always wanted to protect me. But I’m the one who vowed to protect you, and I failed to do so tonight. The blame lies with me, not you._

“And as for breaking our contract,” the blond continued out loud, “do you truly believe I would no longer want to be your Servant?”

Shira said nothing at first, the silence only broken by the sound of her sniffles. Her eyes drifted to the hand that Saber was still holding. For a second, he wondered if he’d overstepped his bounds, but Shira didn’t tell him to let go of her. Instead, a slight, sad smile formed on her face.

“Somehow, this conversation sounds familiar,” she commented.

Saber opened his mouth to ask her what she meant, then closed it as he abruptly realized _exactly_ how familiar this conversation was. Just two days ago, he had been blaming himself for getting raped by Morgan le Fay, while Shira tried to tell him that it wasn’t his fault. Right now, in this current situation, their positions had reversed: Shira blaming herself for Gilgamesh raping her, and Saber trying to tell her that she wasn’t at fault.

He could almost taste the irony.

“Saber, I...” Shira’s voice broke him from his thoughts, and he noticed that she was now looking at him anxiously, even fearfully. “I know this is selfish—it’s probably the most selfish thing I’ve ever wanted—but more than ever, I don’t want you to go. I don’t want you to leave once everything’s over. Promise me you won’t leave— _please_ don’t leave me.”

Her voice was cracking by the end, her grip on his hand had tightened, and for a few seconds, all Saber could think of was how quickly Shira had gone from noting the irony of the conversation they were having to begging him to not leave her. And what was she talking about, anyway? If he was going to leave, wouldn’t he have already—

Oh. Right. The Grail. Saber’s wish. The War itself.

In all honesty, his wish to redo the selection of the king had been the last thing on his mind ever since Gilgamesh raped Shira. For the last few hours, thoughts of avenging his Master and what he could do to help her had been all-consuming, leaving room for little else. With Shira’s pleading came a reminder of Saber’s motivation for fighting in these Holy Grail Wars in the first place, and with that reminder came the uncertainty of how he should answer the redhead’s plea.

The King in him told him that it was his duty to use the Grail to have a more qualified person rule instead of him—if he cared at all about Britain, he would go through with that plan. But the knight in him was urging him to think of Shira—if he cared at all about her, then wouldn’t he want to stay with her and try to help her recover from this ordeal?

Of course he would—of course he _did_. But could he really do it, just like that? Could he so easily give up the very wish he’d been fighting for, abandon his kingdom to its collapse, all for Shira’s sake? And even if he could, would it be possible for the Holy Grail to allow him to stay to begin with? After all, the Grail had been destroyed in the last War, so the fact that Gilgamesh still remained in the physical world was obviously not due to any wish...

Saber realized he must have been silent for too long when Shira’s anxiety appeared to increase.

“Look, it’s not like I ever expected you to love me back or anything—”

“I promise.”

“I just don’t know—wait, what?” Shira interrupted herself, her desperation replaced by confusion.

“I promise,” Saber repeated simply, “for as long as I still draw breath, I will stay with you.”

What other answer could he give? In the face of her distress, to deny Shira what she wanted (needed?) to hear seemed as though it would destroy her just as thoroughly as Saber disappearing for good. And as he watched the slow, relieved smile spread across her features, he knew he didn’t have the heart to take back what he said.

“Thank you,” she said gratefully.

“There is no need to thank me,” he told her, trying to smile in reassurance. _But if I end up disappearing when the Grail War concludes, I will understand perfectly if you come to hate me._


	10. Cooking Battle of the Romantic Rivals

It was the all too familiar feeling of disappointment that surged through Ayaka as she left Saber standing in the school’s hallway to go to the cafeteria. His appreciation for the lunch she made had seemed real enough, but that was about the only good thing that could be said about her most recent encounter with him. Unlike in her daydreams the previous day, it was clear that the last thing on Saber’s mind was asking Ayaka out.

 _But he had thoughts to spare for Shira Emiya,_ the bespectacled girl thought glumly, mechanically eating the cafeteria food she had just bought and wasn’t hungry for. A mental image of Saber smiling appeared in her head, the same smile that had adorned his face towards the end of their brief exchange. It was warm, it was affectionate...and it was meant for a girl who wasn’t her.

It was only later, when school was out for the day and Ayaka began her walk home, that her self-pity lessened enough for her to think more reasonably. She’d just set her hopes too high; after all, she could hardly expect to win Saber’s heart on her first attempt. And besides, he knew her name and had had two conversations with her so far, which was definitely preferable to the last several weeks of him being all but unaware that she was alive.

What was more was the undeniable fact that Saber had come to Ayaka’s defense when Yua, Emiko, and Aina were taunting her yesterday. He could’ve very easily have ignored the plain-looking shrinking violet of a girl being bullied, but he hadn’t, and it was the one thing that she clung to for all it was worth.

 _Saber likes me,_ Ayaka insisted to herself as she got closer to her house. And if she had to make a hundred lunches in order to get him to leave Shira for her, then so be it.

* * *

Saber stirred groggily. “Shira...?” he mumbled as he let his body take its time in waking up. He received no reply, not even a small hum of acknowledgement, and that struck him as odd in his half-awake mind. Sitting up in the futon, blinking rapidly all the while, he quickly noticed something else: Shira was not in bed with him.

It was this more than anything that caused the blond to wake up fully. _This is unusual,_ Saber couldn’t help thinking as he stared at the empty space next to him. For the past couple of months, he and Shira had more often than not woken up at around the same time, each other’s faces being the first thing they saw in the morning. He had barely spent a second wondering where his lover was when he heard the sounds of sizzling coming from the kitchen.

 _Ah, of course,_ Saber realized. _She must be making breakfast._ As he got dressed for school, he found himself vaguely curious as to why Shira felt the need to get up earlier than six o’clock to get started on cooking the first meal of the day, but decided that it wasn’t too terribly important.

He was less than halfway through the hall when he noticed that the smell he was breathing in was quite unlike the scents of the food Shira normally made. He was smelling neither fish, rice, tofu, nor anything else belonging to a traditional Japanese meal. In fact, if Saber’s nose wasn’t deceiving him, it smelled a lot like—

He slid the dining room door open before he could complete that thought. The table was set for six, as usual, but Saber immediately took note of, much to his puzzlement, the absence of chopsticks at each place, followed by the stick of butter and the bottle of maple syrup set in the middle of the table. Saber glanced at the kitchen counter to find that a mixing bowl, a cookbook, and a plate stacked high with pancakes had been placed on it, only increasing his confusion.

Shira, who was presently wearing her blue apron over her school uniform, turned from the stove with a cheerful grin on her face and a spatula in her hand. “Morning, Saber!” she greeted.

“Hmm? Oh!” Saber quickly switched his gaze from the counter to his former Master upon realizing that she had just spoken to him. “Good morning to you, too, Shira,” he replied, pushing aside his bewilderment as he walked to where she stood. He eyed the circle of batter cooking in the pan. “I take it this is why you were not in our room when I woke up?”

“Yep.” Shira turned back to the stove and flipped the pancake before continuing. “I woke up about an hour ago and couldn’t go back to sleep, so I figured I’d get an early start on trying out some new recipes from the cookbook I bought last night.”

“So I see,” Saber remarked, now looking at the golden brown griddlecakes Shira had already made. _That explains some things,_ he thought. Last night, Shira had hurried out of the estate shortly after dinner was finished, saying that she really needed to buy something, and she hadn’t returned until it was time for bed. When Saber asked her what it was that she’d bought, Shira’s only answer was that he’d find out tomorrow.

“I believe this would be the first time I have seen you make Western food,” he now said after a slight pause.

“Uh, well...that’s because this is the first time I’ve made Western food.” Saber returned his attention to the redhead to find her still looking at the cooking hotcake, her smile suddenly a bit strained. “A little variety in what we eat won’t hurt anyone, right?” she hastened to add.

“Of course not, but...” The blond’s voice trailed off prematurely as Shira lifted the pancake with the spatula again and laid it on top of the others. A rather awkward silence descended upon them, and it was only after they stepped into the dining room for Shira to put the plate of pancakes on the table that Saber decided to speak again.

“Shira, would all of this have anything to do with Ayaka making me lunch?” Unexpectedly enough, the lunch Ayaka Sajyou had prepared for Saber yesterday had been Western: a fried ham sandwich with a handful of chicken nuggets. As far as food went, Saber thought it was quite good, and although Shira hadn’t disagreed, she hadn’t been very enthusiastic about it.

At present, Shira’s smile faded as she sat down at the table, briefly biting her lower lip. “Would you believe me if I said no?”

“In the interest of being truthful, I’m afraid not,” Saber admitted, going to sit down himself.

“It’s just that...” Shira paused, “you seemed to really like what she made, so I thought maybe you’d like a more Western breakfast for a change. Of course, it’s not like you ever ask for anything special, but still.”

 _And I am certain your jealousy was not a factor at all,_ Saber thought, but he kept it to himself. He had a feeling that Shira would not appreciate being teased this early in the morning. Instead, all he told her was, “Well, whatever your motives, I have no doubt these hotcakes will be delicious—all the food you make is.”

This time, Shira smiled more genuinely. “If it weren’t for the fact that not even Tohsaka criticizes my food, I’d think you were just being polite.”

The doorbell rang before Saber could reply, putting an abrupt end to the conversation.

* * *

As Saber predicted, the pancakes were good—perhaps they were slightly on the undercooked side, but that didn’t detract from their taste. Taiga and Ilyasviel made no fuss about the unusual breakfast that had been prepared, being happy to eat whatever was set before them, but Rin and Sakura wanted to know why Shira was suddenly making Western food. All Shira said on the matter was, “Can’t a girl just want to experiment in her own kitchen?” without any mention of Ayaka.

The next few hours at school passed normally enough, and Saber was able to put all thoughts about Shira feeling compelled to compete with another girl for his affections out of his mind as he focused on his lessons. Shortly after the bell for lunch rang, he stood up from his chair and was about to join the rest of the students in leaving the classroom for the cafeteria when a by now familiar, soft voice stopped him.

“Uh...Saber?”

“Yes?” the blond asked neutrally as he turned to look at Ayaka, who was still sitting at her desk.

“I...um...” she hesitated, lowering her eyes nervously, “was wondering how you liked the lunch I made the other day. Was it good? I—I mean,” she added quickly, lightly flushing as her gaze snapped back to Saber, “w-was it edible, at least?”

“It was more than edible, I assure you,” Saber said, smiling. “But I confess to being surprised that you had made a Western lunch.”

“Oh...really?” Ayaka’s face flushed even more. “Uh...we make Western meals a lot at my house, so...” She momentarily paused. “B-besides, I thought maybe it’d be more to your taste, since you’re not from here and everything.”

Saber only hummed in reply, and when Ayaka said nothing else after a few seconds, he turned towards the doorway. “Well, if that will be all, I should be going now.” He began to walk out of the room.

“Saber, wait! I—” Ayaka suddenly spoke before he’d gone more than two steps, her voice about two octaves louder than what seemed usual for her. Saber gave a start and looked back at her in time to see her get up from her seat and bend down to grab a boxed lunch from the foot of her desk.

“I...” She straightened up, clutching the lunch in her hands, her cheeks reddening again in embarrassment over her outburst. “I...m-made you another lunch,” she finished quietly, stepping over to Saber as the corners of her mouth twitched upward into a small, hopeful smile.

“You did?” Saber stared at Ayaka, schooling his features into an unreadable mask. _I suppose I should not have assumed she merely wished to make small talk._

The bespectacled girl nodded wordlessly, still wearing that hopeful smile as she held out the boxed lunch to him. Unlike yesterday, however, Saber made no move to take it.

“Ayaka,” he began, “I appreciate the thought, but—”

A new voice cut in before he could finish. “Hey, Saber; ready for—oh. I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

Saber and Ayaka looked at the door to see that Shira had entered the classroom, carrying her own lunch underneath her right arm. The smile that had been on the redhead’s face when she’d started talking faltered a bit once she saw that Saber wasn’t alone.

“Not at all,” he assured her as she walked forward. “Ayaka was just offering me lunch again.”

By now, Shira’s smile had vanished. “You’re Ayaka Sajyou?” she questioned, her eyes trained on the other girl.

“Um...y-yeah, I am,” Ayaka stammered, also no longer smiling. “And you...you must be Shira Emiya.”

“I am,” Shira echoed, her tone polite but cool as she flatly stared at Saber’s latest not-so-secret admirer. For her part, Ayaka did not avoid Shira’s gaze, although she looked uneasy.

“Saber’s told me about you,” Shira went on after a short pause.

“H-he has?”

“He’s told me enough.” _Like how you’re trying to pursue him,_ went unsaid. There must have been more of an edge to her voice than she’d thought, because Ayaka visibly flinched.

Another pause followed, more tense than the last, and Saber finally cleared his throat and took Shira by her free hand. “As I was about to say before Shira arrived,” he said, “I appreciate the thought, but there is no need for you to trouble yourself with preparing a lunch for me, Ayaka. I normally buy my lunch from the cafeteria, but sometimes I bring food left over from a dinner Shira made. Since I am living in the same house as her, it would simply be more practical if Shira were the one to provide me with lunch.”

Saber’s voice was calm but not unkind; even so, Ayaka looked as upset as if he had shouted at her, and Shira felt a sudden flash of what uncomfortably felt like pity mix in with her initial possessiveness, something that had never happened with any of Saber’s other fangirls. Then again, none of Saber’s other fangirls had ever looked like a punched kitten.

At present, Ayaka tightened her grip on the boxed lunch; for a second, it seemed like she was going to say something, but she sighed instead. “I...guess I’ll just go to the cafeteria now.” With her shoulders slumped and her head bowed, the bespectacled girl started walking out of the room, and the sight was enough for Shira’s unexpected pity to rise.

“Oh, let her give it to you,” the redhead found herself saying as she dropped Saber’s hand.

That one sentence caused Ayaka to stop in her tracks, and she turned in Shira’s direction, shock written all over her features.

Saber seemed just as surprised. “Shira?” he asked, his brows raised and his eyes widened slightly.

“Well, she’s obviously invested a lot of time and energy in making you lunch,” Shira explained, the smile plastered on her face feeling terribly forced. “Wouldn’t want it to go to waste.”

“I...suppose not, but are you sure?” Saber questioned uncertainly.

Shira shrugged, heading to the door herself. She stepped past Ayaka without so much as glancing at her. “Just take the lunch and let’s go.” Her voice sounded testy to her ears, and the smile had slipped off her face.

She stepped out into the hall, not waiting to see if Saber would accept Ayaka’s food. And as Shira waited for her lover to join her, she thought it would’ve been better if Ayaka Sajyou had just been another obnoxious girl wanting to get Saber in bed with her.

* * *

As it turned out, Saber did end up taking Ayaka’s lunch, but he did little more than nibble at the tuna sandwich and soft-boiled eggs she’d prepared, his appetite all but gone. While silences were not an uncommon thing during lunchtimes with Shira on the roof, the silence during this particular lunchtime was far from comfortable. Shira refused to speak to Saber even when he tried to engage her in conversation, her face unusually difficult to read as she busied herself with eating the rice, salmon, and vegetables she’d packed. After the bell signaling the end of the lunch period rang, Shira hurried off the roof and back inside the school building before Saber could ask what was bothering her.

They didn’t see each other again until classes were over. Shira walked up to Saber in the hallway, shoved a note in his hands, and walked away without a word. _I have to go to work,_ the note read. _Don’t expect me home in time for dinner._

 _You really want to avoid me, don’t you, Shira?_ Saber thought after he’d taken a glance at what the redhead had written, some measure of frustration welling within him. He was tempted to follow her and demand to know what was going on, but he decided it would be best if he just went home and waited for Shira to return. Hopefully, if she was given time to think things through, they could talk about this without having the discussion dissolve into an argument.

Night had fallen by the time Shira came home. About an hour or so had passed since dinner at the Emiya estate had been eaten, so Saber was the only one in the house. It wasn’t too long before Shira entered their room to find Saber sitting cross-legged on their futon.

“You’re back,” the blond said evenly, looking up to meet Shira’s eyes, his expression impassive.

“Yeah,” came Shira’s reply. Evidently, she was finished with the silent treatment, though she seemed pensive. She remained in the doorway, her fingers tightly holding the sliding door’s edge and her brows furrowing. When she didn’t continue, Saber decided to speak.

“Sakura set aside some leftovers for you. Have you eaten them?”

“Mm-hmm.”

And just like that, the conversation dried up. The seconds passed in silence, both of them waiting to see if the other would bring up the subject of Ayaka. At last, Saber opened his mouth to speak again, but Shira beat him to it, finally removing her hand from the door.

“Sajyou seems nice.”

Saber blinked, a confused frown spreading across his features. “What do you mean?” Sure, Ayaka did seem like a more or less pleasant person to talk to, even with how timid she was, but what did that have to do with their encounter with her?

“You know—nice. Quiet, sweet, shy, likes to cook for you. She kind of reminds me of Sakura...and, well...” Shira’s voice, which had previously sounded bland, now trembled slightly as she stared down at the floor, “there are plenty of guys who like that kind of girl.”

Was she implying what he thought she was implying? Saber stood up, his frown deepening into a glare. “If you mean to suggest that I would leave you for the first delicate flower that crossed my path—” he began heatedly.

But Shira interrupted. “Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered so much if Sajyou was like that one girl who tried to get you to have a ‘study session’ with her that one time or something, but she’s not, and...” She sighed heavily, and Saber watched as she wrung her hands together and met his gaze. “I guess it made me think about things.”

“Shira...” If he still felt a bit agitated at that point, it melted away into concern upon seeing the look on her face—her mouth curving in a dispirited frown and her eyes shining with insecurity. He stepped forward until he was standing in front of her, so close that he could have reached out and stroked her cheek if he’d been so inclined. “Ayaka might be nice, as you say, but she is not the one I spent fifteen hundred years waiting to reunite with.”

“That’s just it, Saber,” Shira said. “For you, it’s been _fifteen hundred years_ in between the end of the Grail War and when you came back. You told me that your feelings for me haven’t changed, but how is that possible? Surely you’ve met other girls who were interested in you over the centuries.”

As the redhead spoke, her voice did not rise at all. She didn’t sound angry, accusatory, or even upset, just empty. Her words hung in the air as Saber spent the next couple of seconds trying to formulate a response. It didn’t help that the sudden turn the conversation had taken revolved around a topic that had remained undiscussed ever since the night of their reunion. He wasn’t trying to hide anything about what he’d done during those long centuries he’d spent away from Shira—after all, he had nothing to hide—it just never seemed important enough to talk about. But now, the subject was broached, and he had no choice but to give an answer.

“You would not be wrong,” he ended up admitting. “There were other young women who showed a romantic interest in me. But,” he added before Shira could get the chance to say anything, “nothing ever happened, I promise you that.”

“But if you _had_ hooked up with someone else, I wouldn’t have blamed you.” She resumed staring at the floor, downcast. “We were so far apart, and it’s not like I was alive throughout most of that time. Nobody would expect you to stay loyal to a girl who wasn’t even born yet.”

“I would hope you would know me better than that.” What Shira was saying strongly reminded Saber of how a highborn woman might rationalize her husband’s infidelity, and he didn’t like it. “Yes, I could have gotten involved with another woman, and perhaps no one would consider it an unfaithful act, but in my heart, it _would_ have felt like I was betraying you, and that was something I promised I would never do.”

“And I’m supposed to believe it’s that simple? That someone like you literally spent forever loving someone like me, even if there were other girls who could’ve been just as good or even better for you?”

All Saber could do was mutely stare at Shira, whose eyes remained focused on the floor. She really didn’t understand, did she? Oh, sure, his former Master was never known for thinking much about herself, but that was normally in regards to people who needed help or were in trouble. Was her self-image so poor that she didn’t realize that, for him, the thought of being with anyone else was unthinkable?

He wanted to assure her that no woman, whether Ayaka or any woman he had met during the centuries he’d lived through, could ever compare to her. He wanted to tell her that, while plenty of girls had been smitten with him for one reason or another, she was the one who saw him at his worst, who knew both the good and the bad about him, and loved him anyway. He wanted to say that once he fell in love with her, he’d never truly fallen out, even if there had been times where he could scarcely recall her face.

But Saber found himself unable to give voice to everything he was thinking as he continued looking at her. Instead, he took one of Shira’s hands in his own and lifted it, her palm facing downward, to his lips.

The action caused her to look up at him with a slight, startled gasp. “What are you doing?” A questioning expression crossed her face, but when she didn’t try to pull away, he placed a light kiss on her knuckles.

“The last time I kissed a woman’s hand,” he said solemnly, “was right before I disappeared at the end of the Holy Grail War. It is traditionally a sign of respect, especially if the woman is of an equal or higher social standing than the man, but it can also be used as a sign of a man’s devotion to his lady. I am afraid that words fail me at the moment, so if I want to express how I feel, this,” he kissed Shira’s hand again, “is the best I can do.”

“Saber...” Shira breathed, staring at him with wide eyes. After a moment, the realization of the significance of what he was attempting to get across seemed to slowly dawn on her, and she let out a small laugh, smiling for the first time since their conversation started. “You’re incredible, you know that? Only you would have just one girl that you’ve kissed in over a thousand years.”

“I would not be so certain,” Saber said, letting go of the redhead’s hand. “Would you have been any different if our places were exchanged? Or if there was no hope we would ever see each other again, for that matter? Would you have moved on?”

“No,” was Shira’s automatic answer, but after a split second of thought, she elaborated. “I mean—yeah, eventually, I’d be able to get on with my life, but...not to the point of finding someone else, I don’t think. And even if I did, I’d probably end up comparing the other guy to you, and that wouldn’t be fair. Still,” she smiled again, stepping forward to embrace Saber and teasingly brush her lips against his, “you _have_ set the bar really high, so I doubt any guy could compare to you anyway.”

“I suppose I will have to take your word on that,” Saber commented, wrapping his arms around her.

Her only reply was an amused hum as she rested her head against his chest.


	11. Pursuing the Dream

He could not say how long he spent in darkness, but it seemed to be quite a while. Too long a while, really, considering the situation he knew himself to be in. Was one supposed to be surrounded by blackness for this long? Surely by now he would have seen a light or a vast expanse of sky or something else that would indicate that he’d reached his final resting place.

Consciousness returned slowly, and the first thing he noticed as his vision began clearing was a high, ornately carved ceiling. The next thing he noticed was his low, steady breathing.

 _I’m...alive?_ He gingerly sat up in the bed he was lying in, stifling a sound of surprise when he didn’t feel the slightest twinge of pain as he moved. He touched his stomach where he vividly remembered being injured; when he glanced at his hand, however, he didn’t find a single drop of blood.

 _How am I alive?_ he couldn’t help wondering as he scanned the stone walls of the bedchamber as though they could give him the answer. He was supposed to be dead—he _had_ been dying, the wound he’d gotten should have been fatal, there was no reason for him to be—

Saber’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the heavy wooden door opening, followed by a greatly familiar, elderly voice.

“Good day, Arthur.”

He turned his head in the direction of the door to see that an old, white-haired man with a long white beard had entered the chamber and was now striding towards the bed. “Merlin...?” was all Saber could say, his voice laden with confusion.

“I must admit,” Merlin went on as though the knight hadn’t said anything, “I’m surprised to see you still alive.”

Judging from the casual way he was speaking, Saber had a feeling that the old sorcerer wasn’t as surprised as he claimed, and since Merlin was gifted with precognition, this conclusion was not a very farfetched one. Even so, Saber did not dwell on what his mentor might or might not know, choosing instead to ask, “What happened, Merlin? How is it that I have not—”

His voice abruptly died in his throat as he spotted the object resting at the foot of his bed. Blinking rapidly, he could not suppress an astounded gasp this time as he beheld the scabbard—the blue and gold scabbard that healed anything, the legendary protection of the sword Excalibur, _Avalon_. It was there—as impossibly plain as the fact that Arthur Pendragon still lived—but how could it have appeared right at the moment that Saber had been dying? It had been stolen, so it should still have been with—

Suddenly, a certain past conversation came rushing back to him.

_“Are you absolutely certain you want to do this?”_

_“Avalon is your scabbard, so it’s only right that I give it back to you.”_

_That’s right; Shira returned it to me,_ Saber recalled as he got up from the bed to take the scabbard in his hands, holding it at arm’s length. Avalon had been with him during the final battle in the Holy Grail War, and it had remained even as he used Excalibur to destroy the Grail. And because Avalon was an actual physical object rather than an imitation magically created by the Holy Grail, why should it not have been brought back with Saber when he was transported to the moment of his would-be death?

“Bedivere found that trusty scabbard of yours lying under you, then took both it and you back to the castle,” Merlin explained in answer to the blond’s first question. “You’ve been unconscious since yesterday, so it was more than enough time for your wound to heal.”

As Merlin spoke, Saber continued to gaze at Avalon, allowing a ghost of a bittersweet smile to cross his features. Against all odds, he was alive, but he was still very, very far away from the girl he loved, separated not only by space, but by time as well. He gently stroked the scabbard, wishing it was Shira’s face.

“So, Your Majesty, care to announce to the kingdom your miraculous defiance of fate?”

Saber started upon hearing that question, the words wrenching him out of his wistful musings and back into the present. He looked up at Merlin as what little of a smile there was on his face gave way to a somber frown, then closed his eyes in contemplation.

After a long moment, he opened them again. “I believe we both know I cannot do that,” he said, his voice sounding as cool and calm as he could muster. “I may have Avalon back in my possession, but Excalibur was thrown into the lake, something that was to be done once my reign concluded. Perhaps the residents of this castle would be convinced I am still alive, but I doubt an empty scabbard—and a previously stolen one, at that—would convince most. It is quite likely that many people would believe I am a fraud assuming King Arthur’s identity.

“And even if I could stay on the throne without any issue, could I really rule Britain for hundreds of years?” Saber asked rhetorically, more to himself than to Merlin. He could easily imagine all the political complications and upheaval that would occur if he essentially declared himself the eternal monarch of the country. Besides, the whole reason he participated in not just one, but two Grail Wars was that he’d so badly—and, as he now knew, very erroneously—wanted to change the past. If trying to redo the selection of the king had been wrong, would it not be equally wrong to try to prolong his reign?

Presently, Merlin raised a bushy eyebrow, his mouth set in a thin line. “You mean to fake your death?”

“It is for the best.” _But it would mean—_ Saber forcibly silenced the mental voice before it could go any further; this was no time for his conscience to get in the way. “With Excalibur gone, my rule has ended and my duties as King can be passed on to...whoever is next in line.” He had been about to say Gawain’s name, but stopped himself once he remembered that the kinsman whom he’d named his heir was dead, along with Gawain’s three brothers. Whoever took the throne after him would have to be some distant relative or another. “Merlin, do you know of anything that could assist me in this matter?”

“I have a potion that will make the one who drinks it appear dead,” Merlin admitted. “With the correct dosage, you can be rendered unconscious long enough for a ship burial to be put together.”

“Very well. If you will, embed Avalon in my body, and see to it that I at least have a sword with me in the boat. I would prefer to be armed if the need to defend myself ever arises.”

The sorcerer nodded. “And after everyone thinks you’re dead, what will you do?”

“Live among commoners and make certain no one has any suspicions about me. I will have to frequently travel—people would begin to wonder why I’m not aging if I stay in one place for too long. And hopefully I can...” Saber paused, then decided to continue with what he was about to say, to discern if Merlin knew about him gallivanting through time to fight in the Grail Wars if nothing else, “...eventually reunite with the woman I was forced to leave behind.”

There was a moment of silence as the former Servant waited for Merlin to respond. At last, the old man smiled slightly, a certain gleam appearing in his eyes. “Somehow, I doubt this woman of yours is Guinevere.”

It was all the answer Saber needed.

* * *

Word traveled fast throughout the land. From the nobility to the peasantry, one bit of news resounded among the British people, summed up in four words: “The King is dead.”

His body, clad in his silver armor, was placed in a boat and set out to sail on the long river just outside Camelot. A sheathed sword, pointing downward, was held in his clasped hands. At his right hip was a white-hilted dagger, also sheathed, and at his left side was a spear. His face was drained of color, his skin was cold to the touch, and he was not breathing.

Yes, as far as anyone was concerned, King Arthur was indeed dead.

The ship burial was held with Merlin and a small band of loyal knights, including Bedivere, in attendance. When it was over, everyone left, all deep in mourning except the sorcerer himself, leaving the funeral boat to make its way down the river.

And for another while yet, the King of Knights was consumed by darkness and stillness.

* * *

Saber woke up to the feeling of a warm breeze on his face and hard wood beneath his back. With a grunt and a few blinks of his eyes, he set the sword he’d been holding aside and sat up in the boat to get a look at his surroundings. All he could see was the gently flowing river and the trees that stood from a distance on his right. If he was now near a forest, he must have been sailing along in that death-like coma for several hours, or even a couple of days.

 _So the ruse has been successful,_ Saber thought as he dismissed his armor in a twinkling of light. He glanced around the boat, noticing the dagger and spear that someone put in as burial goods. After a few seconds of wondering what to do with the extra weapons, he decided that the best thing was to dispose of them. In the event that someone came across his empty funeral boat, less suspicion would be drawn if everything was gone than if the sword and “body” were missing, yet the spear and dagger still remained.

After Saber had thrown the two weapons into the water, he grabbed the sword and jumped into the river himself, swimming to the western shore. Drenched, shivering, and slightly out of breath, the former king stood for a moment on the dirt ground, gazing pensively into the forest.

 _The ruse has been successful,_ he thought again, allowing himself to feel the guilt he’d refused to acknowledge after he decided to fake his death. It may have been for the best, but it also required him to deceive the entire world. And although there were plenty of people who were certainly overjoyed that King Arthur was dead—he’d done far too good a job of being an emotionally stand-offish, coldly pragmatic ruler during the last few years of his reign to be very popular with the public—there were others who were no doubt sincerely grieving over him, especially Bedivere, who must have thought everything would turn out fine once he’d discovered Avalon, and Lancelot, who had—or rather, would—carry his own guilt for his part in his King’s downfall into the fourth Grail War as Berserker.

But did Saber’s feelings about the emotional effects of what he’d done even matter now? What was done was done, and there was nothing left for him to do but move forward.

“I am sorry for lying to you,” he whispered to the wind, “but I have made my choice, and there is nothing I can do to change it.” _No matter how much it hurts, I still think this is the right path to choose._ The words Shira had spoken in that underground chapel as she rejected the Holy Grail echoed in his head, and they were enough to strengthen his resolve.

Holding his head high, Saber strode forward into the forest, preparing himself for a long pursuit of his newest goal.

* * *

He spent several days in the woods, not wanting to rejoin civilization too soon. By day, he passed the hours either walking or practicing swordplay to keep his skills sharp, and at night, he slept on the ground only to wake up with stiff muscles in the morning. When it came to nourishment, there was no shortage of fruit from trees and bushes to eat; it was meager fare, especially compared to the meals at Shira’s house, but the apples and berries and such were at least edible, and he had to make do with what he could find.

Every now and then, he would come across a pool of water and stop to wash his face and hands, but he never bothered with trying to keep his clothes clean. By the time a week passed, his shirt and leggings were heavily stained by dirt and grass; with his currently shabby, unkempt appearance, no one would think he was anything more than a peasant boy.

Deciding that seven days was enough time spent in the wilderness, Saber left the forest in search of a village or town he could temporarily reside in. He came across a traveler’s inn after two days on the road, and the old innkeeper was kind enough to treat him to some broth and allow him to sleep there for the night. When he protested that he had no money to pay for the service, the innkeeper merely waved his hand dismissively.

“You think you’re the first customer here who don’t have any money, boy? These war refugees that come in are lucky if they still have decent clothes on their backs. Now eat that soup before it gets cold—you look like you could use it.”

Although Saber would not be too proud to be a street beggar—a possibility that was very likely in the event that he could not find any honest work—he was uncomfortable accepting such charity. Still, his growling stomach convinced him to take the innkeeper up on his offer, and he obediently ate his bowl of thin broth, unable to keep himself from imagining that he was in Shira’s dining room, eating a soup prepared by either Sakura, Rin, or his former Master.

 _If I cannot even eat without thinking of Shira,_ he thought later as he tried to sleep in a corner of the inn, his sword close at hand, _then I fear the centuries will be very long indeed._

* * *

To his surprise, he was able to find a job in the first small town he arrived in. He was put to work as the town’s scribe, reading and writing correspondences and contracts for people who could do neither. Admittedly, it had not been the first job he’d considered—his initial thought was that he’d end up as a manual laborer—but it was something to do.

For the most part, the townsfolk were quite welcoming and friendly, the hustle and bustle of everyday life was a nostalgic reminder of the village Saber had spent his childhood in, and the town itself was peaceful, seemingly untouched by the civil war that had plagued the end of his reign. Even so, he kept everyone at arm’s length; any conversations he had—whether it was with the family whose inn he was staying at, children around his (physical) age, or paying customers—amounted to little more than small talk. After half a year of living in this place, he could readily say that he had plenty of acquaintances, but no real friends, and it was only when he sneaked outside in the dead of night to continue with his sword training that he felt most like himself.

It was another six months or so before he left the town to travel somewhere else. It was an accomplishment, he decided, that he managed to make it through a year without Shira...but a voice in his head was quick to remind him that he had one thousand, four hundred, and ninety-nine years to go.

* * *

A little over two years later, he learned about Guinevere’s death.

With some shame, Saber realized that it had been a long time since he’d given any real thought to his first wife. The last time he’d seen her, she was being rescued from her execution by Lancelot, and although he’d made an effort to find where she had fled to, such effort had been perfunctory at best. Even if he’d found her, he didn’t know what he would have said to her.

And now, as he stared at Guinevere’s grave in the cemetery where she was buried, he still didn’t know what to say to her.

According to the nuns of this particular town, Guinevere sought sanctuary in their convent after fleeing from Camelot and remained there even after the news of her former husband’s death reached her. Once, Saber would have said she had no regrets about her affair with Lancelot, but now he wondered if perhaps, in the end, she did feel guilty and stayed at the convent as a form of penance.

 _Was it ever possible for us?_ he found himself thinking. _Could we have been...well, perhaps not happy, but at least content?_

At that moment, a mental image of Shira appeared in his head. In his mind’s eye, he saw her in the green meadow of Avalon, her eyes—warm brown, not Guinevere’s bright blue—glittering happily, her hair—fiery red, as opposed to Guinevere’s deep auburn—shining in the sun, and an elated smile lighting up her features. With that image of an old dream from before Saber was king came the reminder of the strange yet wondrous joy he had felt during it; it was as much of an answer to his question as he would get, he supposed, and he was uncertain if that should make him feel better or worse.

Nevertheless, he bade a silent farewell to Guinevere and left the cemetery without a backward glance.

* * *

Year after year, it was the same routine: he went to a place where no one knew him, had an alias and a cover story on hand, found a job and blended in as much as he could, left just before any awkward questions could be asked, and spent some time in the wilderness before repeating the cycle somewhere else.

The work and people might be different depending on where he was, but it was always the same basic routine, even with the occasional skirmish with ruffians, bandits, and even Dead Apostles serving to break some of the monotony. In all honesty, after several decades of this pattern, it could be so maddeningly dull that, in Saber’s darkest moments, he thought perhaps it would have been better if he’d died after all.

At present, while he was trying to fall asleep in his room at a village inn, he dwelled on his memories of Shira. It was something he’d been prone to doing lately, trying to recall everything about her: what she looked like, how her voice sounded, all facets of her personality, what she said and did during a particular time in the Grail War. It was true that human memory could be a faulty thing, but thinking about the one he was steadfastly waiting out the years for helped him through the aforementioned dark moments.

He didn’t know long it was until he drifted off, the memory of Shira’s sad but loving smile after his confession lingering in his mind.

* * *

It took a few centuries before Saber felt he could fight in battles without too much notice. Granted, even the most obtuse warrior in an army was bound to realize eventually that he had the curious tendency of coming out of a fight without so much as a scratch, let alone a gaping wound, but he always ended up faking his death again before any suspicions became a real problem.

In any case, although Britain had not been “his” for a long time, he still felt duty-bound to participate in the wars the country found itself in. Moreover, whether a battle was won or lost, he could not help the pride and relief he felt that the kingdom he once ruled had not been destroyed beyond repair even with his reign’s disastrous end.

Even so, as hundreds of years passed, with Britain dividing into the countries of England, Wales, and Scotland, the former King of Knights also found himself saddened that his country felt the need to invade other nations to acquire power. Yes, he had desired a strong, prosperous kingdom during his reign, but with the Britons—well, the English now, he supposed—attacking and oppressing people such as the Welsh and the French, how were they any different from the Saxons who once invaded them in the fifth and sixth centuries?

Clearly, the descendants of the people from Saber’s day had not learned from history.

* * *

It was during the global conflict that would be known as the Second World War that it became far more difficult for Saber to find work, even more so than during the preceding Great Depression.

He was aware of such things as passports and identity documents, but people had generally lived without them in the past. Now, it was mandatory to have an identity card or some other document legally proving a person’s existence; otherwise, they could not hope to find a job. Forgery was one option, but Saber did not know how well false documents could stand up to scrutiny, even in the 1940s. Besides, if he tried to get authentic documents, some if not most of the information he would have to provide would be false anyway, and they’d have to be gotten rid of and replaced sooner or later whether they were real or not.

Perhaps it should not have been such a big issue—after all, he had told countless lies over the centuries, what was a few more?—but he didn’t want to lie any more than he had to.

He ended up being a beggar. Day after day, he spent several hours out on the streets and asking passing strangers for money. Some people only gave him a contemptuous look—an expression that clearly said, “Get a job, you layabout”—before walking away, and there were those who ignored him entirely, but others were willing to spare a small amount of cash.

Since staying in hotels was out of the question, his nights were spent in back alleys, sitting with his back against a brick wall and trying to get as comfortable as he could before falling asleep. Sometimes, though, sleep would not come easy to him, and he’d mumble to himself as he allowed his mind to wander to Shira, imagining all the conversations he’d have with her once they were together again. If he closed his eyes and concentrated hard enough, he could even imagine that she was right there with him.

If anyone had been present to see him during those times, they might have been forgiven for thinking they were looking at an insane homeless boy.

* * *

Shortly after World War II concluded, Saber stowed away on a ship headed for Japan. Upon his arrival, it was not long before his ears were filled with Japanese, a language he had neither heard nor spoken since the end of the fifth Grail War. It was a great relief to discover that he could understand what was being said, and he thanked the Holy Trinity and every saint he could think of that the knowledge the Grail system had given him had remained intact.

His days as a beggar ended when he fell in with the Fujimura family. The Fujimuras as a whole were as loud and vigorous as he remembered Taiga being...and they also had a certain disregard for the law. It was an open secret that they were a yakuza crime family, and the head of the Fujimuras was willing to create (and edit whenever the time came) legal documents for Saber, who had grown weary of life on the streets, after he’d explained his situation.

 _That_ had been an interesting talk, to be sure. Saber had initially tried to come up with a plausible story as to why it wasn’t feasible for him to have real identification papers, but he ended up telling the truth: that he was Arthur Pendragon, that he had ruled as King of Britain over fourteen hundred years ago, and that he’d been a Servant in two Holy Grail Wars and was waiting out the centuries in order to reunite with his second Master.

Although the Fujimura head was one of the very few members of the family who knew of the supernatural, he wanted proof that Saber was being honest, prompting the blond to temporarily remove Avalon from his body. It was enough to convince the man; however, in exchange for him taking care of Saber’s legal identity, he wanted Saber to not only kill any Dead Apostles he saw attacking people (which he would have done anyway), but also turn a blind eye to the Fujimuras’ criminal activities.

It was with a cool expression and a stiff nod that Saber agreed to the second half of the bargain.

* * *

Every decade that passed meant that he was getting closer to the end.

By the 1980s, Saber might as well have been keeping a calendar in his head, mentally counting off the years he had left before his wait was over. Twenty-six, twenty-five, twenty-four...it was still quite a bit of time, but compared to the centuries he’d started with, a couple of decades seemed no longer than a blink of an eye.

 _Just a couple of decades, and I will get to see Shira again._ The thought filled him with no small amount of happiness, even giddiness, but it also made him a little apprehensive. The last time they’d seen each other, Shira had used her last Command Seal to enable Saber to destroy the Grail, knowing fully well that doing so would result in him going back to his era to die. Would she even believe it was him when they next came face to face?

He would have to cross that bridge when he came to it, he supposed.

* * *

Blood pounded in Saber’s ears as he rang the doorbell of the Emiya estate, his left hand tightly gripping the suitcase he’d recently stored Avalon in. After a few seconds passed with nothing happening, he rang the doorbell again, more insistently this time.

So close—he was _so close_ to finally reuniting with the woman he loved. After hundreds of years of waiting, all it would take now was for her to answer her front door. Just a few more seconds, and he would be able to see her, hear her voice, embrace her...but even the seconds that passed felt as long as any century he lived through.

He was just wondering if he should ring the doorbell a third time when the door was suddenly shoved open, revealing one Shira Emiya—a very aggravated Shira Emiya.

“Fuji-nee, if you’ve come to complain about Ilya, can’t you—”

But she interrupted herself with a gasp, dumbfounded shock written all over her face as she realized it wasn’t Taiga who’d come to visit her.

As for Saber, the suddenness of the door opening, accompanied by the sharp, annoyed tone of Shira’s voice, was enough for him to flinch backward. The suitcase dropped with a faint thump as he instinctively held his hands up. Uneasiness crept into the excitement and anticipation he’d been feeling, and he wondered if perhaps coming here in the middle of the night was not the smartest thing he could have done.

Even so, he could not tear his eyes away from Shira, who was still looking at him as if he were a ghost. Her wide, bright brown eyes; her straight, waist-length red hair; the long white bathrobe hugging her small, slim frame...and the most important thing was that she really was standing before him, that he was not dreaming or even hallucinating.

 _I am with you,_ Saber thought, only vaguely aware of a burning sensation in his eyes. _After so long, I am truly with you._

He lowered his hands, smiling slightly. And when he opened his mouth to speak, he could think of only two words to say:

“Hello, Shira.”


	12. Burning Angel Wings to Dust, Part Two

For Saber, sleep was almost on the same level as food in terms of importance, especially when on war campaigns. Without the proper amount of rest, one’s body would not be in the condition required for combat, and even the most skilled warrior could fall in battle. However, sleep was eluding the knight for the moment, and as he lay on his futon, he found his gaze drifting to Shira, who was lying near him, dozing on her own futon.

She admitted a while ago that she didn’t feel safe sleeping alone, so Saber decided to move his futon into her bedroom. At present, Shira’s face appeared soft with relaxation, her mouth set in a neutral line; whether her expression was due to her light slumber or her relief at the promise Saber had made to her, he could not have said.

Either way, to see her relaxed was a far better alternative to seeing her depressed or anxious.

“No one deserves to be violated; you least of all,” Saber said quietly. “To be forced into sexual intercourse against your will...it’s something I would not wish on my worst enemy.” A slight, mirthless smile crossed his face as a thought occurred to him. “It sounds odd to say, considering that my worst enemy would have to be Gilgamesh, but even so...”

There was no answer aside from Shira’s low, even breathing.

Saber’s smile faded, all attempts at dark humor abandoned. Once again, his Master had tried to protect him despite how unequipped she was to do so. He’d begged her to run and save herself, but she would have none of it. Unfortunately, even with mysterious healing abilities, a rape would be far harder to recover from than a gaping stomach wound.

At last, Saber resumed speaking. “You know, Shira, when you pushed me out of the way during my fight with Berserker that first night, I wondered why you would do such a thing. In time, it became clear that you would do anything to save me—save anyone—regardless of the risk to your own life. I still believe you should value yourself more, but in a way, I now find your selflessness to be...”

He allowed his voice to once again trail off, uncertain as to how he should finish that last sentence. The first word that came to mind was _familiar_ —just as Shira resolved to live her life putting others before herself, Saber had willingly sacrificed his own wants for the good of his people—but the second was quite a bit more personal: _endearing_ —tending to make dear...

...Or beloved.

 _Beloved,_ he thought numbly, recalling the unexpected warmth he’d felt when Shira asked him to be careful before his second battle with Assassin. At the time, he hadn’t let himself dwell on these new...inclinations he’d been having towards his Master, but now that there was no fight for him to focus on, there was nothing stopping his mind from informing him of one single truth:

He was in love with Shira.

Saber didn’t know when he’d begun thinking of her as more than just his naïve, confusing Master, but perhaps it did not matter _when_ he’d fallen for her so much as the fact that he _had_.

And the fact that he had only made things far more difficult, even without the dilemma of whether or not he should give up his wish to change the past. Even if he lived long enough to defeat Gilgamesh and ensure that the golden king could never hurt Shira again, all the love in the world would mean nothing if he disappeared at the Grail War’s end, leaving Shira alone to deal with the aftereffects of being raped.

But she wouldn’t really be alone, would she? She would have Rin, at the very least, and Sakura, Taiga, and maybe even Ilyasviel, assuming she ever told them what had been done to her. Unlike Saber—who never told anyone about Morgan raping him out of a combination of shame that he hadn’t been able to prevent it and fear that either he wouldn’t be believed or he would be believed but also thought of as a weak-willed fool—Shira would have some kind of support system.

 _On the other hand, though, she might not see it that way,_ Saber thought, remembering how Shira’s voice cracked as she begged him to not leave her and how her hold on his hand tightened in her desperation.

He let out a long, heavy sigh as he sat up in his futon, still gazing at Shira. “I do not deserve to be with someone like you, not as your Servant and not as your lover. I don’t even know if I will be able to uphold my promise even if I do give up my search for the Holy Grail. But I swear to you I will do everything in my power to prevent Gilgamesh from ever laying a hand on you again.”

Shira stirred, grunting, and her eyes fluttered open slightly. “Did you say something?” she mumbled, her gaze sleepy and unfocused.

 _Everything aside from “I love you.”_ Three simple words, but could he say them? Were they what his Master needed to hear (assuming she was even awake enough to hear him), or would they be highly inappropriate, considering the ordeal she had suffered just a few hours ago? She said herself that she never expected him to return her feelings, so would she even believe him if he said he did?

Saber wrestled with himself for a moment; when he finally spoke, all he said was, “Just try to sleep if you can, Shira.”

* * *

It was morning when Shira woke up from her dream of the final events of Saber’s human life: the betrayal of his knights, the Battle of Camlann, his fight with Mordred, and the contract he entered into with the world. The images she had seen—images of war, death, and what Saber had been feeling at that time, from his rage at Mordred for the reminder of how the latter had been conceived to his overwhelming guilt and self-loathing as he lay dying beneath a tree—were grim, even heartbreaking, but she was almost grateful for them. After what happened last night, she didn’t want to think of what her dreams would be like without her and Saber’s connection causing her to dream about his past.

With a yawn, Shira sat up in her futon and stretched. Although she could now smell food coming from the dining room, she made no move to get out of bed; instead, she looked idly at the empty futon placed next to hers. Whether it was only out of obligation as her Servant or not, it had still been nice of Saber to stay with her as she slept. She wondered how many nights she would need his company, assuming they both survived the War.

She frowned as she at last got up to get dressed, deliberately forgoing her usual outfit in favor of the baggiest clothes she could find. Maybe it had been unfair of Shira to have Saber promise to not leave her. At the very least, it was undoubtedly selfish, since her desire for him to stay was no longer just because she wanted him to find happiness in the present, but even so, she couldn’t really say she regretted what she did. However selfish it was, she needed Saber like she needed air to breathe. If her past experiences with trauma were any indication, her road to recovery would not be a short one, if it ever truly ended at all, but surely if Saber—someone who knew all too well the horrors of rape—was there to support her, it would make that road more bearable.

After getting dressed and grooming herself (doing her best to avoid seeing her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she did so), Shira headed to the dining room to find Saber and Rin sitting at the table, breakfast all laid out. Her Servant and her ally looked up as she entered, both wearing grave expressions on their faces. The redhead wondered if they’d been talking before she walked in, and if they’d been talking about her.

If either Rin or Saber noticed that Shira’s body was practically swallowed by the loose-fitting shirt and pants she was wearing, they didn’t say a word about it. Instead, Rin smiled politely and said, “Hello, Shira. I hope you don’t mind that I made breakfast.”

“You did?” _Wasn’t it my turn to cook today?_ Shira thought, biting her lip as her insides squirmed with guilt. “I’m sorry; I should’ve gotten up earlier. You didn’t have to trouble yourself with breakfast, Tohsaka.”

Rin dismissed her with a wave of her hand. “Oh, please. If you want to worry about anything, worry about yourself—after the night you had, no one’s gonna blame you for being selfish for once.”

“Uh...right,” Shira replied uncomfortably. _If only Tohsaka knew exactly how selfish I’m being._ Without a word, Saber motioned for her to sit down; she took the seat next to him before taking note of the absence of a certain little girl and deciding that now was a good time to get off this particular subject. “Ilya’s not eating with us again?”

“No,” Rin told her. “When I checked up on her, she was still asleep, and her fever hadn’t gone down. It’s unfortunate, but not surprising.”

“What do you mean?” Shira pressed, putting food on her plate and starting to eat.

“Remember when I thought that Caster was going to use Ilya as her sacrifice?”

“Yeah.” A few nights ago, Caster planned to sacrifice a magus in order to call forth the Holy Grail; if Rin’s immediate assumption that the purple-robed witch was going after Ilya had struck Shira as odd, then the revelation that Sakura—who, as it turned out, was biologically a Tohsaka herself—was the real target had initially been downright baffling. “I’m guessing you had more reasons to think that than just not wanting to believe your sister was in trouble?”

Rin nodded. “Caster said she figured out how the Grail works, so I assumed she knew that Ilya is the vessel to summon it. As such, Ilya’s health will get worse and worse as the War progresses and her body is filled with the spirits of the eliminated Servants. Since there’s only Saber, Lancer, and Gilgamesh left, it won’t be long before Ilya will need to do away with her functions as a human being.”

Shira’s lips curled downward at Rin’s words, and with that, conversation dried up as breakfast continued. It was only shortly after the meal was over and the table cleared that Saber decided to speak.

“Shira, before we focus on anything else in this War, I think that killing Gilgamesh ought to be our top priority,” he said without any preamble.

 _And now we address the elephant in the room._ If Shira was being honest, she’d rather not have to discuss Gilgamesh at all, but at least talking about how to kill him—and the fact that Saber specifically said “kill” rather than “defeat” did not go unnoticed by her—was much better than talking about how he’d raped her. “No complaints here,” she admitted out loud, “but how exactly do you plan to kill him without getting yourself killed? We’re talking about a man who doesn’t have any weaknesses—all he has to do is use the Gate of Babylon and you’re dead in less than a minute.”

Saber paused. “His strength might be exceptional,” he said slowly, “but I believe he does have one weakness—his pride. He has always held back in a fight, not due to any concern for his opponent or anyone else who gets in his way, but because he deems people unworthy of seeing him unleash his full power. Therefore, killing him requires ensuring that he underestimates me.”

“Interesting idea, but the way I see it, it could only work if you had something to catch Gilgamesh off guard,” Rin pointed out. “So unless you have a secret weapon on you that we’re not aware of...”

When several seconds passed in silence, Shira let out a sigh and stood up from her seat. _Looks like there’s only one thing left to do._ “I hate to say it, but I think we’ll have to pay a visit to Kotomine.”

* * *

After some more discussion, it was decided that Rin would stay behind at the estate to keep watch over Ilya, while Shira and Saber would go to the church to try to see if Kotomine had any advice to give them about their very half-baked plan to kill Gilgamesh. Presently, Master and Servant both were walking on the sidewalk outside the estate’s walls, the latter still in the collared shirt, tie, and dress pants he used as his civilian garb and the former wondering how they could get to Kotomine Church without having to pass the park.

“Shira,” came Saber’s voice abruptly as he stopped his footsteps.

“What is it, Saber?” the redhead asked, following suit and turning around to face him. “Something else you want to talk about?”

There were so many things he wished to say, Saber reflected, a pensive, melancholy look crossing his features. He could apologize for everything—for what Gilgamesh did to Shira, for the likelihood that he would not be able to stay with her regardless of her hopes, for still wondering if he should persist in trying to obtain the Grail when she’d made it clear how much she needed him. He could assure her again that he would kill Gilgamesh for her sake. He could even muster up the courage which had failed him last night and tell her he loved her.

But instead, after a momentary pause, he asked something that he should have asked long before now: “How would you feel about having to face Gilgamesh again? Do you think you would have another attack?”

Upon hearing the question, Shira’s expression became somber. Her Servant had doubtlessly not forgotten the time she had a PTSD-triggered flashback after he ended up dragging her to her hometown’s ruins in his insistence that she let her recovering body rest. “Yeah, most likely.”

“I admit that I would prefer you stay by me, but if you don’t think you can handle—”

“No, it’s fine,” Shira interrupted, shaking her head quickly. “I mean, no, it’s _not_ fine, but...I’ll have to see him again whether I want to or not, right? If we don’t come to him, then he’ll come to us. Besides, I think running away would be exactly what he’d expect of me. He seems the type to...well, get off on people being afraid of him.” She grimaced at her own choice of words.

“Even so, Shira, your wellbeing is of importance to me,” Saber told her. “If you feel you cannot see Gilgamesh without reliving last night, you can always return home after our meeting with Kotomine while I go after him myself.”

“And do what? Sit there and worry myself to death over whether he’ll kill you this time or not?” A lump formed in Shira’s throat at the idea, but she forced herself to keep talking. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t do that, no more than I could’ve left you last night. Like I said, staying away from Gilgamesh will make him think I’m too scared to face him, and that’ll be like him winning all over again. He can’t win again.”

It wasn’t rational, she knew. The logical thing—the _smart_ thing—would be to do what Saber suggested: just go home and fervently hope he would make it back to her in one piece. And even if she went with him to confront Gilgamesh, there was little to nothing she could do against someone whose title was King of Heroes.

But Shira had already been rendered helpless by Gilgamesh once, and she couldn’t stand the thought of letting him have that kind of power over her again in whatever way, shape, or form. If she accompanied Saber, then at least she could prove—to herself if no one else—that Gilgamesh hadn’t broken her entirely, no matter how much it hurt her mentally in the process.

“Well said, girl,” a voice suddenly piped up, startling both Shira and Saber. “Good to know you’ve still got some spunk.”

They whirled around in the direction of the voice. There, standing several paces away, was a man dressed in a blue bodysuit, with a red spear casually held in the crook of his right arm and a lazy smirk on his face.

“Lancer!” Shira exclaimed.

Saber was in his armor in a flash, his sword in both hands as he charged forward with a yell. Lancer’s smirk faded as he leapt out of the way, Gae Bolg now in his right hand. Saber turned around and was about to rush at his opponent a second time, Excalibur again poised to attack, when Lancer raised his free hand in the air.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” he said. “Would ya cool your jets, Saber? As much fun as it’d be, I’m not here for a fight—I’m here to help.”

“You’re here to help?” Shira repeated, not relaxing in the slightest.

“And what does that mean?” Saber, who hadn’t lowered Excalibur at all, demanded harshly.

“It means,” the spearman answered, quite unfazed by Saber’s rudeness, “I’m offering to lend you a hand against that piece of shit that calls himself Gilgamesh.”

“So you know—” Shira began.

“What he did to you?” Lancer cut her off. “Yep. Overheard him bragging about it last night.”

“ _What_?!” Saber and Shira said in unison, the former outraged while the latter was appalled. _Who_ does _that?_ the redhead thought, exchanging a glance with her Servant and feeling sick to her stomach. _Who goes and rapes someone, then later on brags about it like it’s something to be proud of?_

Lancer gave a darkly amused grin. “That about sums up my reaction, too. So, if we all agree that King Asshole needs to go down—”

“Wait just one moment, Lancer,” Saber interrupted. “My Master and I have _not_ agreed to join forces with you. And why should we? As I recall, the last time we met, you were trying to kill Shira. How do we know you won’t attack us as soon as we accept your offer?”

“If I was gonna attack you, would I be wasting time talking?” Lancer asked rhetorically.

Shira chewed on her lower lip; she had to admit that he had a point. She didn’t know Lancer very well, but he struck her as the kind of person who preferred to communicate with weapons rather than words. On the other hand, though, he _had_ tried to kill her, not just once, but twice. Was trusting him really a good idea?

At present, Saber’s voice was stony as he made his next inquiry. “Tell me, has your Master ordered you to offer us your...assistance?” That last word was spoken with thinly veiled sarcasm.

Lancer scoffed. “My Master doesn’t even know I’m here. Hell, you’re welcome to kill him too while you’re at it.”

“Why?” Shira questioned.

“Let’s just say I’ve had enough of him,” was all Lancer said. “Anyway, how about it? Want to team up?”

“Absolutely not,” Saber said immediately. “You claim to want to help us kill Gilgamesh for what he’s done to Shira, but would you not agree that you are being very hypocritical?”

Lancer narrowed his eyes. “What the hell are you—”

But Saber, glaring right back, did not let him finish. “I am well aware of your legend, Hound of Ulster. Of particular note is the story of how you defeated a warrior woman named Aífe by claiming her horses and chariot had fallen over a cliff. You then overpowered her, put your weapon to her throat, and said you would only spare her if she would lie with you and bear you a son. She agreed, but only because she wanted to stay alive. As far as I’m concerned, that makes you no different from Gilgamesh.”

“Hey, I gave Aífe a choice,” Lancer snapped. “That’s more than what the golden bastard did for your Master. Now do you want my help or not?”

Saber looked ready to argue his point further, but then he exhaled sharply, at last lowering Excalibur. “Regardless of my thoughts on your offer, it is not for me to decide whether or not we accept it. Shira,” he turned to address her, “what do you think?”

Shira paused for a moment. Lancer was an enemy, true, and he was also apparently a rapist, according to Saber. She wished she could’ve said that that was enough to refuse his offer, but the fact of the matter was that their current adversary was Gilgamesh, the Servant who boasted about being history’s oldest king, with all of the power and strength that it implied. Shira and Saber’s plan of how to deal with such a Servant was wanting at best, so if Lancer was willing to help them, they really weren’t in any position to turn him down.

“We’ll have to work with him,” Shira finally said. “Maybe it won’t be enough, but at the very least, two Servants fighting against Gilgamesh is better than one.”

Saber’s mouth was set into a thin line. “Very well,” he answered, nodding stiffly. He switched his gaze to Lancer and gave him another glare. “But if you lay a hand on Shira, I promise that you will be the next one I kill.”

If either Saber or Shira thought that Lancer would be insulted by this, they were mistaken. His only response was to momentarily stare at Saber, smirk approvingly, and say, “I’d expect nothing less.”

* * *

“He’s in there?” Cold sweat formed on Shira’s palms as she stared at Kotomine Church, and she clenched her hands into fists in an attempt to resist wiping them on her shirt. “Gilgamesh is in there?”

“He’s in there, all right,” Lancer confirmed grimly, “and so’s his and my Master, Kotomine. Apparently, they’ve been working together for a while—if I’d known earlier than last night, I would’ve split sooner.”

“What?” Shira whipped her head in Lancer’s direction. “ _Kotomine_ is a Master? But he’s the supervisor, he’s supposed to—oh, never mind,” she interrupted herself; now really wasn’t the time to think about how the priest—whose role as supervisor of the Grail War meant he was supposed to be impartial—had gotten his hands on one Servant, let alone two. _I don’t even know why I’m surprised; nothing should surprise me anymore._

“Shira,” Saber spoke up, his eyes narrowed icily as he looked at the church building several feet in front of them, “give me the order and I can slaughter Gilgamesh right now.”

“Wait, Saber,” Shira said. “Barging in there and getting into a fight right away might not be the best idea. I think we should go with what we were going to do—talk to Kotomine about how we plan to kill Gilgamesh.”

“But I just told you they’re in cahoots,” Lancer reminded her. “No way he’s gonna want to help.”

“True, which is why Saber and I will only keep up the conversation for a few minutes or so. We’ll wait for an opening, _then_ you and Saber can attack Gilgamesh. Until then, Lancer, you shouldn’t give Kotomine any reason to think you’ve teamed up with us.”

Lancer grinned. “Whatever you say, girl.” And with that, he disappeared into spirit form.

A moment of silence passed; neither Shira nor Saber resumed walking towards the church. At last, Saber turned to his Master, his expression softening with concern.

“Are you certain you will be all right?” he asked, coming back to what they’d been discussing before Lancer showed up. “You can stay outside if you want to; I can always tell Kotomine that I have come on your behalf.”

Shira just eyed the church, her face set with a calmness she was determined to feel. “I’ll try to be all right.”

Without another word, the pair finally headed on to the church. The doors creaked as Shira opened them, and she and Saber entered the chapel. Just like when Shira visited two days ago, Kotomine was standing at the opposite end of the room. The redhead quickly scanned the chapel as she and Saber walked, but she didn’t see any sign of Gilgamesh. Beside her, her Servant tensed as if readying for a fight.

“Back so soon, Shira Emiya?” Kotomine greeted smoothly after they reached him. He turned around to face them, his gaze drifting to Saber. “And with your Servant as well?”

“We have business to discuss with you,” Saber informed him, his voice frosty. “I thought it only appropriate that I accompany my Master.”

“We’ve come to talk about the eighth Servant,” Shira said in a rush before Kotomine had the chance to say anything else. “We know his name now—it’s Gilgamesh—he attacked us last night. Actually, he did worse than attack us, he...he...”

 _Raped me,_ was what Shira meant to say, but her voice, going faster than usual, did not seem to want to say those words. Her breath hitched, and she looked down at the floor, her throat tightening.

“He...” she began again, forcing herself to keep talking, “did something to me. Something very bad. He has to be killed—he _has_ to.” She sounded increasingly choked, and a burning sensation stung her eyes. “Is there any advice you can give us about how to kill him?”

For a long moment, no one spoke. Shira waited for Kotomine’s response, blinking rapidly.

“You say the eighth Servant’s true identity is Gilgamesh?” the priest asked, as calm as if they’d been discussing something completely mundane.

“Yes,” Shira answered, looking up from the floor.

Kotomine sighed. “In that case, it’s not very difficult to deduce what exactly he did to you last night. If you are familiar with Gilgamesh’s legend, then you know he once made it a law that the brides of his kingdom were to surrender their virginities to him, whether they wished to or not.

“How distressing this must be for you, Emiya,” he continued, stepping closer to Shira. “I can only imagine how traumatizing the incident was. A young girl like you having her innocence stolen by a man who believes all women belong to him...you have my deepest sympathies.”

Shira gave an involuntary shiver. If it had been anyone else, what Kotomine was saying would have been a comfort to her, but since it _was_ Kotomine telling her all this, it didn’t feel comforting at all. Perhaps it was because his dark eyes showed nothing that even hinted at compassion, or because he still spoke as if the topic at hand was something far less terrible than her rape, or because she could _swear_ his mouth was curling into a tiny, mocking smile.

Saber, who’d moved nearer to his Master after Kotomine had done the same, must have also sensed that he was being less than sincere. Glaring, Saber opened his mouth to speak, when a new voice broke in:

“Lying doesn’t suit you, Kotomine.”

It took everything Shira had not to gasp or cry out at the sound of that smug voice. With her teeth clenched, she turned to see Gilgamesh—who must have been in spirit form up until now—carelessly lounging in the front-row pew to their right. Each hair on the back of her neck stood on end, and her insides suddenly churned with nausea as memories of last night invaded her head.

_Gilgamesh was laughing. She was bleeding. Saber was chained up and struggling._

_“I can’t have you dying. I want you fully awake as I take you.”_

_Gilgamesh pulled the potion out from his vault. The liquid was forced into her mouth. Her vision blurred. Everything hurt. Everything hurt. Everything_ hurt _._

Shira shut her eyes tightly in an attempt to block out the flashback. _Not now, not now!_ she thought, trying to calm her racing heart. She didn’t know when she had grabbed Saber’s hand, but she found herself holding his gauntleted fingers in an iron grip.

“I would not call it lying, Gilgamesh,” Kotomine was saying, “so much as telling Emiya precisely what she wants to hear.” He returned his attention to Shira and Saber, smirking. “I would introduce you to the Servant I partnered with in the last War, but such a thing would be quite unnecessary.”

“You!” Saber, who had been as still as stone ever since Gilgamesh’s materialization, barked out, fixing the other Servant with his most venomous scowl. If it weren’t for Shira’s plan to wait for an opening first, Saber would more than likely have already rushed over to pummel Gilgamesh into the ground by now.

Gilgamesh got up from the pew, completely unruffled by Saber’s reaction to him. “Still so hostile, boy? I would think last night would have curbed your defiance.”

“If you believe violating my Master would make me yield to you, you’re madder than I thought,” Saber snarled.

“But then again,” Gilgamesh continued, as though he hadn’t heard a word of what Saber had said, “it wouldn’t be any fun for me if you caved at once. I wonder, would a second round suffice? Or even a third?”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Shira exclaimed immediately, dropping Saber’s hand as her eyes flew open in terror.

Gilgamesh switched his gaze to her, a sneer playing on his lips. “Sorry, my little mongrel, but I have every right to have you in my bed whenever I desire it. As my bride and the mother of my child, you belong to me as much as Saber does.”

Shira felt her face get hot, anger speedily replacing fear. “I’m _not_ pregnant, you _asshole_!” she shrieked. “And like hell I’d marry you after you forced me—”

“What’s this about force?” Gilgamesh interrupted, still speaking in that infuriatingly superior tone of voice. “I vividly recall you thoroughly enjoying being graced by the King, with all the moaning you were doing.”

Shira flinched at those words as if she’d been slapped. _Did...did he just..._

“How is it force if _you_ were the one who let me tear your clothes off and bury myself in you? How is it force if I gave you exactly what you wanted?”

All Shira could do was open and close her mouth, stunned into silence by the sheer insanity of Gilgamesh’s little speech. _What the hell...what did I just...but I didn’t...I didn’t want..._

“You pox-ridden son of a—!”

“ _That wasn’t what I wanted_!” Shira suddenly exploded, cutting off Saber’s furious insult and storming over to Gilgamesh as her body shook with rage. “ _You drugged me_!” She punched him in the face, ignoring his grunt. “ _You drugged me and you raped me_!” She punched him again. “YOU RAPED ME, YOU RAPED ME, _YOU RAPED ME, YOU MONSTER, **YOU RAPED ME**_!”

She heard nothing but the blood roaring in her ears and her three-word scream. She saw nothing but her fists as she hit every inch of Gilgamesh she could reach. The recklessness of what she was doing, the fact that no Servant would truly be hurt by her punches, the certainty that Gilgamesh would retaliate—all of it was completely, utterly _meaningless_ compared to her burning desire to cause him as much pain as possible.

She yelled as Gilgamesh grabbed her by her scalp, but her fists still swung. Distantly, she heard rushing footsteps, and in the next instant, a hand took her by the shoulder, yanked her away, and threw her aside as easily as if she were a ragdoll. A scream escaped her throat as she hit a wall and crumpled to the floor, her vision exploding with stars and blurring with reflexive tears at the impact.

She heard two people bellowing. Through her pulsing headache and streaming eyes, she could just make out Lancer and Saber with their weapons out, running at Gilgamesh from different directions. Scores and scores of Noble Phantasms fired out of the Gate of Babylon, and the clanging of metal was heard as the projectiles were blocked, along with the sound of crashes as Gilgamesh’s weapons ended up hitting pews, walls, the floor, or anything else that wasn’t either of his opponents.

Amidst all the noise of the fight—the battle cries, the crashes, the clangs, the occasional grunts of pain—a thought slowly came to Shira’s sluggish mind: _Where did Kotomine disappear to?_

As if in answer to her thought, a baritone voice rang out in the chapel.

“ _By the power of this Command Seal, I order you, Lancer, to kill thyself_.”

Shira gasped as her head shot up. Lancer went rigid at the command, and everyone else—Kotomine, who was next to the broken pieces of the altar with his back to Shira; Gilgamesh, whose Gate remained activated behind him; and Saber, who stood the closest to his Master in a crouching position, Excalibur still clutched in his hands—watched as he abruptly aimed Gae Bolg at his chest. After a few seconds in which Lancer tried to resist the Command Seal, struggling to move his spear in any other direction, he stabbed himself in the heart. Blood spurted from the wound and splattered onto the floor, and Gae Bolg fell from Lancer’s grasp with a ringing clatter, the spearman himself following suit barely a second later.

“Damn...you...Kotomine!” Lancer cursed through raspy, uneven breaths.

“You should have thought of that before trying to betray your Master,” Kotomine informed him coolly.

Shira stared as Lancer tried in vain to move from the bloodied ground he was lying on. It hadn’t even been a quarter of a minute, and Ireland’s Man of Light had been taken out with a single, fatal order via a Command Se—

 _Wait a minute,_ Shira suddenly thought, the gears in her head turning as all lingering effects from being thrown into a wall vanished. _That’s_ it _!_

With Kotomine and Gilgamesh’s attention on the dying Lancer, Shira got to her feet and took Saber by the arm. “We need to leave—now,” she said in a barely audible whisper. Without waiting for a response, she pulled Saber to the front of the chapel, passing the debris of broken pews as they went, and hurried through the still open doors as swiftly as possible.

“Shira, what were you—?” Saber began once they were at a safe distance from the church.

“I just got an idea,” Shira interrupted, letting go of her Servant, “and no way was I gonna say it while Gilgamesh and Kotomine were around.”

“An idea?” Saber repeated, blinking in puzzlement. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean,” Shira replied, smiling for the first time since Saber gave her his word last night, “is that I think I know how you can kill Gilgamesh.”

* * *

From its hiding place in her shirt, Rin’s Azoth Dagger felt cold against the skin of Shira’s back. Almost thirty minutes had passed since she and Saber left the Emiya estate, where they discovered that Ilya had been kidnapped and found Rin slumped against the dining room wall covered in her own blood. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Kotomine was behind the attack, and before Rin had passed out, she informed Saber and Shira that the priest had most likely taken Ilya to Ryudou Temple, the most ideal place for the Holy Grail to appear.

So here Shira and Saber were, at the bottom of the mountain’s stairs. The temple, emanating an ominous red light, loomed in the distance, and the night air was thick with magical energy. In just a few more minutes, the confrontation between the last two Master-Servant pairs would take place. It was a battle that would determine the conclusion of the fifth Grail War, a battle that would end in either victory or defeat.

But before that battle could begin, Shira had to put her idea into action.

“Saber,” she began, causing the blond to turn his attention to her. Without waiting for a response, she lifted her left hand up for Saber to see. On the back of her hand, her last Command Seal glowed. “ _Kill Gilgamesh_.”

Shira’s hand burned for half a second, then the Command Seal disappeared. There was no surprise in Saber’s expression, only a cold determination as his face hardened and his grip tightened on the invisible Excalibur’s hilt. With those two words, Shira had granted her Servant the power he would naturally have had with someone like Rin as his Master, putting him on the level of excellence that the Saber class was known for. While the Command Seal’s effect would not last indefinitely, the vague nature of the order meant that it would last far longer than an instant.

In any case, it ought to be long enough for the command to be carried out.

“Thank you, Shira,” Saber said, his voice stoic. “With the power of your Command Seal, I assure you that Gilgamesh’s death will be a certainty.”

There was nothing Shira could think to say to that, so she merely nodded. A silence descended on the pair as they headed up the stairs. The concentration of mana became denser and more overpowering the further they went, and Shira felt an icy shiver run down her spine as her temples started beading with sweat. She’d sensed this kind of presence twice before with Rider; however, as unpleasant as Rider’s magical energy had felt, it was downright friendly compared to the intensely malevolent, oppressive mana she was sensing now. The sensation was like being repeatedly stabbed with poison-coated knives, and Shira wondered what—or who—the mana was emitting from. Was it Gilgamesh, or even Kotomine?

At last, the top of the mountain was reached, and Shira could now sense that the mana—whatever its source—was coming from the back of Ryudou Temple.

“So, you’re finally here. I was getting tired of waiting.”

Bathed in the unnatural red light, clad in his golden armor, Gilgamesh stood at the center of the mountaintop. At once, images of the events leading to Shira’s rape flashed into her head, and it was with all the willpower she could muster that she forced them aside. This was to be her and Saber’s last battle; she couldn’t allow anything to deter her, even her own mind.

“The time for the Holy Grail to appear is at hand.” Gilgamesh gestured to the air around them. “This curse is the miracle you wished for, Saber—it’s what makes it possible for a Servant to remain in this world.” He barked out a malicious laugh. “Tell me, what will the look on your face be when I force the Grail’s curse down your throat?”

Saber’s only answer was a stony silence as he stepped forward and brandished Excalibur, releasing Invisible Air and revealing the sword in a flash of light.

Shira, meanwhile, had chosen that moment to run to the back of the temple, figuring it was where Kotomine had Ilya. She wasn’t fast enough, though; she had barely gone more than half a dozen paces before Gilgamesh fixed his eyes on her—and in the next second had rushed towards her so that he was now in her face.

She only had time for a violent start before Gilgamesh grabbed her by her arm, smirking.

“Where are you going, woman? Your King hasn’t give you permission to leave.”

“Don’t touch me!” Shira shrieked, fighting against Gilgamesh’s vice-like hold on her.

Whatever he would have said to her remained a mystery, as Saber then charged forward, giving a swift, hard punch to Gilgamesh’s face. The impact was enough for Gilgamesh to stagger back slightly, and Shira was able to tear away from his abruptly slackened grasp, shuddering and shaking.

“Shira, go!” Saber ordered after he jumped back to where he’d originally been standing, but he needn’t have said anything; Shira wasted no time in hurrying away, rubbing at the arm Gilgamesh touched as if trying to rid it of a dirty stain.

After Shira was gone, Gilgamesh straightened up, seething, and Saber was pleased to see a bruise forming on the golden king’s right cheek. _One bruise is only the beginning._

“Striking the King is punishable by death,” Gilgamesh said tartly. “You _do_ realize I could easily kill you for that? I could kill her as well, for trying to assault me at the church, no matter how pathetic her attempt was. Be grateful that neither of you are any use to me dead.”

Again, Saber merely responded with silence, but his expression spoke louder than words: furrowed brows, narrowed eyes, a tight-lipped frown. This was far from the furious rage he’d expressed during his last two encounters with Gilgamesh; this type of anger was one that froze rather than burned. And it was this type of anger that Saber would have to maintain, because there was no doubt that his foe would try to provoke him in an attempt to make him careless during their fight.

Carelessness was something he could not afford.

“What, no fiery retort? No insolent comeback?” Gilgamesh grinned in dark amusement, his offense at being punched apparently forgotten. “Have I frightened you into submission already, Saber?”

Without a word and with his expression unchanged, Saber got into a battle stance, Excalibur held out in front of him.

Gilgamesh’s grin faded a bit. “No...judging from that look on your face, you still insist on defying me. _You_ , a kitten who thinks he’s a lion!” Behind him, the Gate of Babylon activated. “A servant must know his place,” a sword was pulled from the vault, “and the time to teach you yours is now!”

Saber kicked off from the mountain floor and raced towards Gilgamesh, swinging Excalibur downward. As the knight got nearer to his opponent, Gilgamesh made to parry the blow with his own sword—

And his eyes widened in shock as Saber sliced through his sword and slashed at his armor.

Thanks to Shira’s last Command Seal, Saber’s endurance and agility had gone from a C rank to a B rank, his strength and mana had gone from B to A, and his luck had gone from B to A+. Gilgamesh hadn’t foreseen the increase in Saber’s abilities, so he could do no more than freeze as his sword broke in two and Excalibur delivered a long scratch on the gold metal of his breastplate.

But his surprise didn’t last long; before Saber could attack again, Gilgamesh leapt back out of striking distance with a laugh.

“So! It would seem my bride is a clever one!” Saber gave a barely noticeable twitch at Gilgamesh referring to Shira as his bride, but otherwise made no response. “She used a Command Seal to give you a boost of power. How very unexpected. But no matter.” Hundreds of Noble Phantasms crept forward from the Gate. “Try attacking me again when you have my treasures to contend with.”

As if on cue, the Noble Phantasms—swords, axes, spears, and hammers—shot towards Saber with the speed of gunfire. At his usual strength, it would have been a rather alarming task to avoid being hit by even one of those weapons, but with the way he was currently empowered, it was easy enough to block and evade the torrent of Noble Phantasms coming for him. Even the occasional blade or lance that managed to strike true did nothing more than graze his armor.

Still, each second he spent dodging and parrying the seemingly limitless supply of weapons was just one more second that wasn’t spent charging at Gilgamesh head-on and cutting him to bloody shreds. With every step forward he was able to take, he was forced to stop for too long a time or even take a couple of steps back because of a projectile suddenly flying at him.

Saber retreated slightly to catch his breath as the final Noble Phantasm was repelled, frustration bubbling within him even as the expression of arctic fury remained etched on his face.

“You’re so intent on killing me, and for what?” Gilgamesh asked rhetorically, his voice as haughty as ever. “All for the sake of a woman I claimed as mine?”

Despite himself, Saber felt his body tense and heard a faint ringing in his ears. _Don’t listen to him,_ he thought sternly. _Say nothing. Flying into an unbridled rage is what he wants. Don’t give him what he wants._

“Really, Saber, if you’re so angry about me deflowering your Master, you have no one to blame but yourself.”

Saber’s insides were twisting. _Ignore him._

“If you truly wanted to stop me, all you had to do was bow to me. All the pleasures of the world would’ve been yours. The Grail would’ve been yours. But instead, you refused the honor of servitude I so graciously offered.”

Saber looked down at Excalibur to hide the grinding of his teeth, and he noticed his hands trembling on the hilt. _Ignore him._

He could almost hear the sneer in Gilgamesh’s voice. “Does your obstinate pride mean that much to you? You would rather let me force your Master to be delirious with passion as I ravish her than sink to your knees and call me your King?”

 _His words mean nothing. His Noble Phantasms hurt worse than this. Just_ ignore _him._

But Saber’s thoughts were becoming feeble, less convincing. Slowly but surely, the ice he had so firmly encased his emotions in was cracking, and a terribly heated mixture of anger and guilt was determined to seep in.

“If you were as foolish during your reign as you were last night, then it’s no surprise you lost control of Britain,” Gilgamesh taunted. “Your people weren’t being ruled by a man—they were being ruled by an emasculated eunuch. Isn’t that right, _Arthur_?”

Saber’s head snapped up, his face contorted with loathing.

With a primal, animalistic scream ripping from his throat, he kicked off from the ground and rushed blindly towards Gilgamesh. Excalibur was raised over his head, glowing with mana as it waited for its true power to be unleashed. He could see the Gate of Babylon shimmering, but he didn’t care. Gilgamesh could release another rain of weapons or even pull out Ea, it made no difference.

All Saber cared about was fulfilling Shira’s command.

“EX—”

He swung downward.

“—CALI—”

But before he could finish, a huge wave of black abruptly came coursing through their battlefield, and Saber was drowned in darkness.

* * *

Shira froze in her tracks with a horrified gasp once she made it to the back of the temple, her stomach suddenly lurching.

Up in the blood-red sky hung a huge, dark void where the moon ought to be. The void was dripping with black, tarlike mud that slowly fell in globs into the water of the nearby lake and in the grass, staining and polluting whatever it touched. Was _this_ the so-called Holy Grail? Was this evil, foreboding thing the legendary, wish-granting relic that magi had caused so much bloodshed over time and time again?

But as terrible as what appeared to be the true nature of the Grail was, there was something else that caused fear and revulsion to surge through Shira’s veins.

An unconscious Ilya was hanging from the edge of the void, her head lolled on her chest and her arms spread apart as if she were being crucified. And from where Shira was standing, she could see that there wasn’t a single stitch of clothing on the girl’s prepubescent body. _Oh, dear God!_

“ _Kotomine_!” the redhead screamed, turning her gaze furiously to the priest, who was standing with his back to the void.

“Ah, Emiya.” The corners of Kotomine’s lips curved upward in an amused smirk. “The last surviving Master has arrived. But should you really have come here in your delicate condition?”

Shira did not rise to the obvious bait. “What the hell did you do to Ilya?! Let her _go_ , you filthy pedophile!”

Kotomine was unfazed by her accusation. “Now, Emiya, you shouldn’t be so hasty. I have not touched the girl, and the removal of her clothes was not my doing. If you must blame something for that, blame this mud. It is the contents of the Holy Grail, an enormous amount of power that curses everything in this world. If anything, the fact that the vessel has had only her clothes destroyed upon making contact with the Grail’s mud shows how resilient she is.

“As for your demand that I let her go,” Kotomine went on, “I cannot do that. The Holy Grail may have materialized, but the portal is far from stable. My wish will not come true unless the vessel bears this until she dies. I suggest you leave now, Shira Emiya, if you want to live. But if you insist on staying and falling into hysterics like you did at the church, you will leave me no choice but to kill you.”

 _That bastard!_ Shira’s body tensed as she clenched her jaw. “I’ll show you _hysterics_!”

And with that, Shira hurried forward, her eyes not straying from Kotomine. Snakelike tendrils of mud leapt up on their own accord and shot towards her, and she swiftly evaded the mud, paying little attention to where it landed as she continued closing the distance between her and her enemy. A large, tentacle-like glob of sludge was thrown at her face, and she stopped momentarily, ducking to avoid it, already prepared to resume running.

But the instant before she could do just that, another black tendril shot forward, wrapping itself around her arm. Shira opened her mouth in a scream at the burning pain that lanced her arm the second the mud made contact with her. She frantically shook the sludge off of her and cradled her burned arm, the pain thankfully lessening already.

Kotomine chuckled. “Defeated so soon? I would expect more from Kiritsugu Emiya’s daughter. Unless, of course, he didn’t bother teaching you anything.”

Shira looked up, her brown eyes flaring with hatred as she glared at the priest. “Don’t you _dare_ talk about my father!” she snarled.

“But now that I mention it,” Kotomine continued, ignoring Shira’s demand, “I have to wonder what Kiritsugu would think if he could see you now.”

“That’s none of your damn business!”

Again, Shira was ignored. “Do you honestly believe he would be proud of you, an amateur magus who got in over her head in her single-minded pursuit of a borrowed dream?”

Shira gritted her teeth even as she felt her insides constrict. She didn’t know what was more infuriating: Kotomine bringing up her father’s possible opinion of her in the first place, or the fact that every word he was saying was like a blade to her heart. “Didn’t I _just say_ —” she began hotly.

“What would he say if he knew,” Kotomine interrupted, his voice rising over hers as a truly cruel grin split his face, “that his daughter had become a king’s whore?”

And with those last two words, Shira snapped.

A distant pounding was heard in her ears, her vision flooded with crimson, and only two words were roared from her mouth:

“ _SHUT UP_!”

She jumped to her feet and raced forward. More tendrils of mud rose up to attack, but she dodged them with renewed speed. The Grail’s mud didn’t matter. Its potency didn’t matter. Its potential for destruction didn’t matter.

The only thing that mattered was one single thought, repeating over and over in Shira’s head until she could think of nothing else:

_He has to die._

Kotomine swung a fist at her face once she got within his range, but she dodged that, too, hurrying towards him and grabbing the Azoth Dagger from her shirt as she did. Without wasting any time, she thrust the dagger through his clothes, through his flesh, and into his heart.

“Läβt!” She stabbed him again. “ _Läβt_!” And again. “ _LÄβT_!” And again.

With every shouted _läβt_ , mana poured into the dagger. Kotomine gaped wordlessly, his eyes wide, and Shira moved to stab him again—

But at that very moment, the mud of the Holy Grail erupted.

Kotomine, the void, Ilya, even the ground, they were all engulfed in a sudden flood of black tar. Shira screamed as her vision filled with the accursed sludge—but only for a second; the mud passed over her as harmlessly as water, as though a barrier was shielding her.

The same could not be said for anything else it touched, however.

Before Shira could call out for Ilya, a horribly familiar smell caught her nose. _No...no, not here...please,_ please _, not here!_ she thought, her body going rigid as she broke into a downpour of a sweat. The smell was bitter, pungent, _acrid_. The smell strangled the air away from her lungs, and it made breathing all but impossible.

It was the smell of smoke.

It was the smell of fire.

Turning around only confirmed what Shira’s senses had already told her. The tall, orange flames pointed skyward, loudly crackling as they consumed the grass, the dirt, the trees, and Ryudou Temple as mercilessly as the fire ten years ago consumed her hometown.

_Issei...his father...all the monks..._

Everyone living at the temple would have fallen asleep at this hour, but surely the fire would’ve woken them up. Or would it? What if they were still asleep, blissfully unaware that they were in very real danger? What if they were awake, but were trapped with no way out?

If no one helped them—if no one saved them—they would die.

Everyone living there would _die_.

Without another thought, Shira covered both her mouth and nose and retraced her steps as hurriedly as she could, yelping at the burns the mud inflicted on her feet and trying to move on her toes in a vain attempt to prevent as much pain as possible. Amongst the fire that burned all around her and the smoke that threatened to choke her, she heard screaming from where she’d left Saber.

Having a sudden mental image of Gilgamesh repeatedly stabbing Saber, Shira ran to the front of the blazing temple, stopping at a part of the ground that looked to be the least effected by the sludge. But when she saw what was going on, she almost wished she hadn’t looked.

Looming before a fallen, bloodied, dismembered Gilgamesh was a dark figure holding an equally dark sword. The swordsman’s armor and clothing were entirely black, as black as the mud still spilling through the area. The sword was black as well, and the blade and hilt glowed with red runes. The swordsman’s face was as pale as death, and his tousled hair appeared to be white blond. He looked every bit like a god ready to smite the lowly heathen at his feet.

It was as though the universe had been ripped out from under Shira’s feet. Because even as changed as he was, she knew who the swordsman had to be.

It was Saber, corrupted by the Holy Grail.


	13. Second Date

“Shira, have you finished with all your homework assignments?”

Shira gave a start at Saber’s abrupt, unexpected question, sitting up from where she’d been about to fall asleep in their futon.

“Um...yeah, actually, I have,” she told him, frowning in confusion. “Why?”

Saber, who had not even lied down yet, answered Shira’s question with another question. “Tomorrow is Sunday, correct?”

“Yes...?” Shira responded, still unsure of where he was going with this. “Is something important supposed to happen tomorrow?”

“Ah...” Saber paused, his previously calm demeanor being replaced by slight awkwardness. “Well...now that you mention it, there aren’t any classes to attend, nor holidays to celebrate...so in that sense, I suppose there is nothing important tomorrow. Still, I was wondering...”

But his voice trailed off, leaving his sentence unfinished. He looked away from Shira, staring out into space.

“You were wondering what?” Shira prompted after about a minute of silence.

That snapped Saber from his reverie. “I—I was merely wondering...” He switched his focus back to Shira, and he reached out to gently stroke a lock of her hair, though his fingers were trembling slightly. With an intake of breath, he began again. “Shira, do you remember the outing we took towards the end of the War?”

“You mean our—oh!” Shira’s eyes widened in realization. “Are you trying to ask me out on another date?”

“Yes—yes indeed,” Saber said quickly, a light red blush tinging his cheeks.

Shira beamed. “Then of course I accept!” Her smile faded a little as something else occurred to her. “Is that why you insisted on watching the weather report during dinner?”

The blond nodded, his face returning to its natural color. “I wanted to be certain the weather tomorrow would be adequate for any excursion we will take.”

Shira hummed. “Anything in particular you had in mind?”

Saber blinked, feeling the heat rush back to his face. “I...I will think of something, I assure you.”

If Shira noticed any lack of confidence in Saber’s voice, she made no sign of it.

* * *

“Shira?” Saber called over the sound of the hairdryer. “How much longer are you going to be in there?”

“Just a few more minutes!” she replied from the closed bathroom.

Saber forced back a sigh; at the rate Shira was going, “a few more minutes” could mean another hour of waiting out in the hall. He had planned for their date to begin as soon as breakfast was eaten and the dishes were washed, but Shira wanted to freshen up before they left home. By freshening up, she apparently meant that every last _particle_ of her appearance—her body, her face, her hair, and her clothing—had to be nothing less than impeccable.

Even so, Saber couldn’t complain too much; the more time Shira spent in the bathroom, the more time he had to think about what exactly he could do to court her. He thought about the courting rituals used in his time. Back then, a few ways knights could woo ladies were through brave deeds, poetry, or songs. Feats of valor would be difficult to come by in this era, and at any rate, Shira would be more likely to scold Saber for endangering himself than anything else. As for writing a poem, he didn’t think he was that creative, and while he knew of karaoke bars, he had doubts that he’d be good at serenading his former Master.

He supposed he would have to improvise.

Saber was broken out of his thoughts by the sound of the bathroom door opening, and he straightened up in time to see Shira finally walking out. Her face appeared as fresh and clean as it ever was, her hair looked soft and smooth and had the lingering scent of shampoo clinging to it, and she’d changed out of her nightgown and robe into a short-sleeved yellow shirt and white pants.

“Suddenly I feel thankful that Fuji-nee dragged me to an all-girls shopping spree several weeks ago—now I actually have nice clothes to choose from.” Shira grinned at her own joke, then sobered as she studied Saber’s face for his reaction. “What do you think? Do I look okay?”

He spent a moment looking her over; in all honesty, she could have worn a mud-stained burlap sack and she’d still catch his eye. There was nothing especially fancy or expensive about the clothes as far as Saber could tell, but the shirt and pants fit Shira’s petite build like a glove on a hand, and the light colors—yellow for warmth, white for innocence—suited her perfectly.

“You look very nice,” he told her, smiling slightly. “I don’t know why it was so imperative for you to spend over an hour trying to improve what needs no improvement.”

Shira blushed at the praise. “Thanks. You might be flattering me a little, but thanks.”

“Believe me, Shira, I don’t flatter.” Saber offered his hand to her. “Shall we be off, then?”

Shira’s only response was a nod as she grasped his hand.

* * *

When they reached Fuyuki City’s shopping district, the first place Saber ended up taking Shira was a small flower shop, figuring it was as good a place as any to start. Ever the gentleman, he held the door open for her, and the appreciative smile she gave warmed him more than the sun shining in the mid-morning sky. Once they were inside the establishment, they were met with the sights and smells of various flowers. The many colored blossoms—white, yellow, red, pink, purple, blue, orange, and green—covered shelves, tables, and even the floor, and they were all placed in either plastic or glass vases filled with water.

The cashier, a young dark-haired woman who seemed to be the only other person in the store, jumped a little, startled, from where she stood behind the counter, and her face lit up upon seeing customers. “Welcome, welcome!” she greeted with a deep bow, her voice a mixture of enthusiasm and relief. Saber and Shira had barely inclined their heads when she continued. “You’re my first customers today! Are you two here to make an order? Any flowers you want to buy?”

“I think we’ll just be looking around for now,” Shira told the cashier. “But we’ll let you know if we find anything we like,” she added hastily when the woman’s face fell.

“It would appear that business is slow,” Saber observed as he and Shira walked through the shop, passing rows of tulips, daffodils, bluebells, and chrysanthemums.

“Not many people under fifty buy flowers much anymore,” the redhead explained, “unless it’s for a special occasion, like a wedding or a funeral. The woman up front must’ve been excited to see two teenagers here.”

The words were barely out of Shira’s mouth when she gasped. Several paces away was a table with vases of roses placed on it. She raced over to the table, Saber trailing behind her, and picked up a white vase containing twelve burgundy roses.

“Wow, these are so pretty!” Shira gushed, smiling from ear to ear. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen roses this shade of red before.”

The corners of Saber’s mouth curved upward. The first flower that got her attention, and it was one that meant the recipient was beautiful even though they didn’t realize it. _I wonder if she knows that._

“Would you like me to buy them for you?” Saber asked.

Shira turned to him in surprise. “Wait, really? You want to?”

“Certainly, if you have no objections.”

“N-no, of course not; it’s sweet of you ask, I just...” Shira’s face was flushed pink, and she laughed sheepishly. “I guess it just never occurred to me that you’d want to buy me a present. I think I’m still trying to get used to the whole relationship thing.”

Saber nodded in understanding, and when he didn’t say anything after a few seconds, Shira switched her attention back to the roses she held.

“Anyway,” she said, “there should be a price tag some...where...?” Her jaw dropped as she looked at the vase. “Oh, my _God_!”

“What is it?” Saber asked.

“Look at this!” Shira shoved the roses into his hands. Puzzled by her sudden shock, Saber examined the vase, and it didn’t take long before he realized the reason for Shira’s exclamation.

It was a small sticker showing the price for the flowers.

A very _high_ price.

Saber’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Thirty-five thousand yen for one bouquet?!”

* * *

In the end, they bought a few violets for the far less absurd price of seventeen hundred yen (“They’ll brighten up the dining room!” Shira told the cashier cheerfully) before they left the shop. Shira clutched the paper-wrapped purple flowers in her left hand as she and Saber walked the city streets.

“I am sorry,” Saber said after several minutes of silence, “that I could not afford those roses.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Shira answered, turning her head to see his downcast expression. “It’s not your fault they were so expensive. I’ll bet those were wedding flowers, and anything involving a wedding’s bound to be pricey.”

“Perhaps,” the blond said doubtfully. “Still, you were quite enamored with them.”

“They _were_ beautiful, but it’s not the end of the world that we couldn’t take them home with us. Besides,” a small, playful grin tugged at Shira’s lips, “I didn’t fall in love with you because I thought you’d shower me with flashy knickknacks.”

Saber did not reply to that. By this time, they had arrived at the park, and the former Servant allowed his gaze to drift towards the large patch of grass surrounded by the brick road. “Be that as it may...”

He strode towards the grass, ignoring Shira’s confused, “Saber, what are you...?” as she followed him. He knelt down, plucked a yellow dandelion, and stood back up. Turning to face Shira, he held out the dandelion to her.

“This dandelion might not be as lovely as a rose—it might not even be a flower—but I give it to you regardless.”

Shira stared at the yellow-headed weed, then at Saber’s solemn face, her heart skipping a beat. _He really wants to treat me like a princess, doesn’t he?_ It was like something out of a novel, where the handsome male lead charmed the heroine and swept her off her feet. If someone had told her two months ago that a man would want to give her a gift simply out of affection for her, she would’ve laughed. As it was, being doted on, for lack of a better phrase, was a very new thing, even if it was flattering. Feeling her cheeks heating up, she accepted the dandelion, adding it to the violets.

“Uh...thank you,” she told Saber. “I’ll put it in the dining room with the flowers.” With that said, she abruptly took hold of his hand, her blush fading. “Come on, let’s go sit down.”

While they walked, it was Saber’s turn to redden as he looked at his fingers intertwined with Shira’s. If she wasn’t used to being treated like royalty, then he wasn’t accustomed to such casual physical contact. Oh, they had their share of embraces and kisses during the week following their reunion—the euphoria that came with their being together again hadn’t quite worn off yet—but that was when they were alone at the Emiya estate. Holding hands where people could possibly see them—something Shira had been prone to initiating over the last seven days, whether it was here in the park, at school, or even during mealtimes with Taiga, Ilyasviel, Rin, and Sakura—made their relationship seem more...well, _public_ , more open to the view of the general populace than when it was just the two of them in the privacy of their home.

A quick scan around the park was enough for Saber to know that none of the other parkgoers—mostly couples and young families, it seemed—were paying them any mind. That lessened the awkwardness somewhat, he thought as Shira led him to one of the benches. She was still holding his hand when they sat down.

For a while, there was nothing but silence between them as they let their eyes wander, whether they looked at the trees, the bushes, the cloud-filled sky, other people, their joined hands, or each other when one didn’t think the other would notice. Eventually, Saber caught Shira eyeing him, and she blushed and pretended to have been watching a small flock of white pigeons that were walking on the road.

“Wish I’d thought to get some seeds or something,” Shira said presently, “then we could’ve fed them.”

Saber watched the pigeons for a few seconds. “Speaking of food, I could prepare dinner tonight if you wish.”

Shira snapped her gaze to him, eyebrows raised incredulously as she finally let go of his hand. “Seriously? Have you ever even used a stove before?”

“I have cooked food over open fires—surely a stove would not be so different,” Saber answered, shrugging. “Besides, I have watched you, Rin, and Sakura prepare several meals.”

“Still, I think I ought to help—” Shira suddenly stopped speaking at the sound of her stomach growling.

“Time for lunch, I take it?” The words were barely out of Saber’s mouth when a growl rumbled from his own stomach.

“Sounds like it,” Shira said with a slight laugh, standing up from the bench. “Let’s find somewhere to eat.”

Before long, they were back on the streets, keeping their eyes open for a restaurant. After several minutes of walking, Shira could have sworn she heard a rumbling that wasn’t coming from either her or Saber’s stomachs.

“Did you hear that?” she asked, stopping short and looking around town.

“Hear what?” Saber wanted to know, stopping as well.

Shira took a look at the sky. Was it just her, or did the clouds appear darker than they had only ten minutes ago?

“I think it sounded like—”

But before Shira could finish, there was a loud clap of thunder and rain started falling.

Both of them froze upon feeling the sudden torrent drench them, and Saber cursed.

* * *

After one mad dash throughout town and one ride on a bus so crowded that they had to stand in the middle of the aisle, Saber and Shira managed to find a café.

“This is not how I expected the day turning out,” a scowling Saber muttered once they entered the brightly lit and thankfully warm building. The café was filled with the pleasant scents of food and drink, accompanied by the general hustle and bustle of a restaurant—customers seated at small square tables talked amongst each other as they ate, while waiters took orders, served the patrons, and cleaned tabletops—which was almost enough to mute the noise of the rain lashing the windows.

Even so, the overall atmosphere would have been better appreciated had Shira and Saber not been too busy shivering. Their hair—not to mention their clothes—were thoroughly soaked; if Saber had thought Shira’s yellow shirt and white pants fit her this morning, the garments clung to her like a second skin now, and he was doing his utmost to look at anything but her. For her part, Shira was also careful to not stare at Saber too much, since his white shirt had become see-through.

“Well, I don’t see how it could be worse,” Shira said, trying to remain positive even as she eyed the rather pitiful state of the drooping violets and dandelion she, amazingly enough, still held.

It wasn’t even a minute after she spoke that she was forced to eat her words.

“Wow, looks like _someone_ got caught in the storm.” A pretty waitress no older than Shira rushed over to them with towels, and the latter fought back a groan as she noticed how the former was staring at Saber like he was a particularly good piece of meat. _So much for things not being worse._

“It was...unexpected, yes,” Saber replied, forcing his features into polite neutrality as he brushed his wet bangs out of his face. He was seemingly unaware of how the waitress was shamelessly looking him up and down—and of how Shira was silently fuming beside him.

The waitress held the towels out. “Here; dry off before you catch a cold.” A small, mischievous grin crossed her face, one eyebrow raised suggestively. “Unless, of course, you need some help, sir.”

Saber opened his mouth, presumably to say that that would not be necessary, but Shira beat him to it.

“How very considerate of you, but he doesn’t need your help.” A slight but hard edge was present in Shira’s otherwise cordial-sounding voice as she stepped forward with a strained smile. She gave Saber the flowers, snatched the towels out of the waitress’ hands with more force than necessary, and practically threw one in Saber’s direction. “May we have a table for two, please?”

For a split second, the waitress glared at Shira, but she quickly smiled again as if nothing had happened. “Sure, come with me.” She led the couple to a table in the upper right-hand corner of the café, Saber and Shira towel-drying themselves as they followed her.

“Soooo, handsome,” the waitress drawled once they were seated opposite each other and she pulled a pen and notepad from her skirt pocket, her full attention once again on Saber, who had settled his towel around his shoulders so that less of his shirt was visible, “what can I get for you today?”

Again, Saber remained impassive, choosing not to respond to the girl’s flirtations. After a swift perusal of his menu, he said, “I will have a caffé macchiato and a cheddar tramezzino.”

The waitress jotted down Saber’s order. “And what will your sister want?”

What _did she just call me?!_ Shira thought, having gone from irritated to outright livid. Hitting on Saber was bad enough, but misinterpreting their relationship (and doing so deliberately, she suspected) was something else entirely. The redhead didn’t even register her towel falling from her shoulders as she clenched her fist on the tabletop near where the flowers rested. She pressed her lips together tightly to keep from spewing out whatever nasty things she was tempted to say.

On Saber’s part, hearing the waitress refer to Shira as his sister finally provoked a reaction from him. “I beg your pardon?” he asked, confounded, his eyes widening as much as they had after discovering the price for the burgundy roses as he stared at the waitress.

“His _girlfriend_ will have what he’s having,” Shira said before Saber could continue; if looks could kill, the waitress would have been dead on the spot.

Clearly, the girl realized this, if the fearful parting of her lips was any indication. “Uh...okay.” She forced another smile as she hastily wrote something down. “Coming right up!” She did not look at Saber again as she hurried from the table.

Shira huffed once the waitress was gone. “I’d suggest we get our lunches to go, but it doesn’t sound like the rain’s gonna be letting up any time soon.”

Saber slowly shook his head. “I believe that is the first time anyone has assumed we were related.”

“‘Assume’? More like ‘ignore the obvious.’ We don’t even _look_ like we’d be siblings, for crying out loud! And what did she think we had flowers for? To crush them and put them in a stew?”

“You did say earlier today that young people do not usually purchase flowers. Perhaps she thought they were for a funeral?”

“Oh, please. You buy _chrysanthemums_ for funerals, not violets. Next you’ll tell me she totally wasn’t going to try to feel you up with that ‘here, let me help you dry yourself’ offer.”

“Is...that not what you are doing right now?”

“Huh?” Shira’s jealous indignation melted into confusion as she looked underneath the table. At some point, she had placed her hand on Saber’s knee, her grip firm, even possessive. “Oh!” She jerked away, her face suddenly feeling hot. “S-sorry about that.”

“You are forgiven; no lasting harm done.” Saber tried to smile in reassurance, but his face quickly fell as he peered over Shira’s shoulder and out the large window at the other side of the café. True to her word, the rain showed no sign of stopping. “I fear I cannot say the same for our outing.”

Shira stayed silent for a few moments before her lips perked up in a small grin. “Well, if we disregard a lying weatherman and an inappropriately flirty waitress, today hasn’t been a total loss.”

Saber looked back at the redhead, his frown deepening. “You don’t need to feign enjoyment for my sake.”

“No, really, I mean it,” she said in earnest. “The flower shop was lovely, the park was nice, and the weather...” she paused, her smile fading slightly, “well, at least it _started_ out great, right?”

 _You are ever the optimist, Shira,_ Saber couldn’t help thinking, and not unkindly. Still, while he may not have had a definite plan in mind for this date, he certainly had not imagined getting caught unaware by a rainstorm, rushing to find the first place they could eat at, and sitting here still feeling damp from what must have been, at the very least, fifteen minutes of running in the rain.

At present, Saber let out a sigh. “You do have a point, although I still wish things had gone differently.”

“There’ll be other dates,” Shira promised. “Besides, today’s not over yet. We can go home after lunch.”

“Home?” Saber blinked. “Would that not mean the end of our date?”

“Not necessarily.” Another smile spread across Shira’s features. “I think you’ll like what I have in mind.”

* * *

It was only some time after they had eaten their sandwiches and drank their coffees, followed by yet another rain-filled run to a bus that took them back to the Emiya estate, that Saber discovered what Shira was planning. Once home, they took turns showering and getting into dry clothes, then they put on raincoats and headed outside to go to the dojo.

Before long, Shira and Saber were crossing shinais, just as they had during the fifth Grail War. The minutes went by as they sparred; their practice swords collided together again and again as one deflected an attack from the other, punctuated by Shira’s labored breathing and occasional pained grunt as Saber landed a hit on her.

“How is it,” Shira panted in between blows, “that you never get winded when we train?”

“I have plenty of endurance,” Saber informed her, dodging one of her swings. “That’s what happens when you have years of practice.”

She quickly shook sweaty strands of hair out of her face, then lunged forward to strike. “Guess I’d forgotten just how good you are.”

“Well, I _was_ called the King of Knights,” the blond said, grinning wryly as he dodged again.

Shira let out an amused snort at that. “You know, I thought about sparring as a way to make you feel better, not to inflate your ego,” she chided playfully.

“I assure you, it’s working.”

“What, that you’re feeling better, or that your ego’s inflating?”

“The former, of course. Pride would not be suitable for a knight.”

“This from the guy who’s thrashing me up and down the dojo?”

Saber chuckled. “Now, Shira, I may love you, but you can hardly expect me to be gentle with you during training.”

A smirk crossed Shira’s lips. “Good thing I don’t plan on giving up, then.”

They resumed trading blows after that. Despite what their banter may have suggested, Shira was impressed by Saber’s swordplay. There was nothing flashy or flamboyant about it; every move he made—whether it was an attack, a parry, or a dodge—was quick and efficient. Even as she found herself doing more defending than attacking, she couldn’t help but be mesmerized by him: his calm, collected expression; the steady coolness in his blue-green eyes; his mouth set in a thin, straight line. This was a man who’d spent his whole life training in combat, and it came to him as effortlessly as breathing. King of Knights, indeed.

She was staring at his mouth when his shinai knocked her own out of her hand. He pointed his weapon at her, a hint of another grin forming on his face.

“Do you yield now?” he asked.

At any other time, Shira would have grabbed her shinai from the floor and insisted on continuing. Instead, without a word and with her eyes still on Saber’s mouth, she closed the distance between them, cupped his cheek, and pressed her lips to his.

Saber went rigid in surprise, his body frozen for a moment. Shira smelled of sweat and tasted very slightly of coffee, but her lips were as soft as always. Dimly, as if it were happening several miles away, he heard his shinai fall with a tiny thump. He closed his eyes, wrapped his arms around her middle, and willingly yielded to her kiss.

Neither of them noticed when the rain finally stopped.


End file.
